


For This Love

by mille_libri



Series: So Dear Is Still the Memory [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 145
Words: 113,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri
Summary: Bates and Anna couldn't have known where that first handshake would take them: short vignettes covering on- and offscreen scenes in their romance.





	1. What She Wanted

_April 1912_

Anna Smith had always known what she wanted. She had gone into service as soon as she was old enough, working her way steadily upward to reach her current place. Being head housemaid in a house like Downton Abbey was a big achievement, and she was more than satisfied with it, for now. As a young girl about the age of Daisy, Downton’s scullery maid, she’d been pinched often enough on the servants’ stairs by impudent footmen to put dreams of that nature aside indefinitely. Over time, she had developed an image in her mind of the man she would want, and then she’d put it away in a corner of her heart to wait until such a man appeared.

Sometimes, on nights when she had trouble sleeping, she would lie in the dark listening to the light breathing of Gwen, the second housemaid, and she would take that image out and go over it. He would have to be an honourable man, honest and forthright. A man of intelligence, with warmth and humour and an interest in learning. A gentle man, but strong enough to stand beside her come what may. Looks weren’t that important to her—most of the remarkably attractive men she’d met hid far less attractive things under their bright surfaces—but she wanted a big man, someone she had to look up to, someone into whose embrace she could disappear. Anna might have been as much a stranger to the physical side of love as she was to the emotional, but she had a healthy imagination.

Her mother’s practical daughter was well aware that such a man probably existed only in her mind, and that surely she would not find him in service. So Anna didn’t look for him in the men she met; she assumed he wouldn’t be there. But she also had a strong romantic streak, and she believed in hoping for the best. When he appeared, she would be ready.

These thoughts were far from her mind the terrible morning of the Titanic’s sinking, when she walked down the servants’ stairs to find a man standing in the hall. He was a tall man, dark-haired, leaning on a cane. Miss O’Brien, the ladies maid, accosted him, as was her way.

“I’ve been waiting at the back door,” he said. “I knocked, but no one came.”

“So you pushed in,” Miss O’Brien said.

“I’m John Bates, the valet.”

“The new valet.” Miss O’Brien looked pointedly at his cane, but said only, “You’re early.”

“Came on the milk train; thought I’d use the day to get to know the place, and start tonight.”

When Miss O’Brien gave no response to his remark, Anna thought it was about time someone stepped in who wouldn’t make this Mr. Bates feel that he’d arrived in the Arctic Circle.

She shifted the bundles in her arms, holding her hand out. “I’m Anna, the head housemaid.”

Her small hand practically disappeared in his larger one. “How do you do.”

“And I’m Miss O’Brien, Her Ladyship’s maid.” Miss O’Brien hadn’t moved, standing forbiddingly in front of him. Anna couldn’t help but wonder what was under Miss O’Brien’s bonnet—what was it to her if there was a new valet? Of course, she was thick with Thomas, the first footman, and Thomas had been hoping for the valet’s job himself. But he wasn’t going to get it; Anna could have told them both that. Mr. Bates waited politely, not rushing her or giving any indication he felt her incredible rudeness. Anna liked that about him, right off. Finally, Miss O’Brien said, “Well, you’d better come along with us, then.”

He bent to pick up his valise as Miss O’Brien walked off. As he straightened, Mr. Bates’s eyes met Anna’s, and she couldn’t help smiling at him. She liked the smile she got in return—it was polite and not effusive, but there was a hint of humour to it. She hurried off after Miss O’Brien and Gwen, conscious of Mr. Bates’s heavy steps following her lighter ones.

In the kitchen, faced with the doubts, both spoken and unspoken, of the butler and housekeeper, he refused to be ruffled, simply repeating, calmly, “I can manage.”

Where was their hospitality? Anna thought. It was the coldest reception she could ever remember of a new servant, so at his fourth or fifth repetition of “I can manage,” she said, “Of course you can.”

He looked at her over his shoulder with surprise, and a small smile as if to thank her for the support, and she liked him a little more for accepting the caution and dismay of those who ran the house with such self-possession.

As they sat at luncheon that day, with Mr. Carson assuring Mr. Bates that he needn’t be uncomfortable in the presence of His Lordship, the Earl of Grantham himself came into the room, apologizing to all of them for disturbing their luncheon. There was a happy eagerness in his face when he came around the table to greet Mr. Bates, whom he introduced to them all as an old comrade from the war. As his lordship left the room, there was total silence from all the servants, until Mr. Bates looked at all of them with that same small smile, shrugged a little, and said, “You never asked.”

That was when Anna was sure they were going to be friends—not only was he a man who had earned the esteem of Lord Grantham, he was a man who could find humour in a situation a lesser man might have taken offence at. She picked up her fork, feeling an awareness of the man sitting next to her that she had never felt before. And deep inside her heart, something that had been waiting, tensely, relaxed.


	2. The Kindest Thing

_April 1912_

Anna would be very sad to see Mr. Bates leave. He had seemed so determined to make a go of it at Downton; he’d tried so hard to do his job well, even in the face of Thomas and O’Brien tripping him up. Anna had liked him more every time she saw him.

Knowing he was leaving made her feel as though a cloud had just blocked out the sun. Foolish, possibly, but there you had it. At least she could try to do some little thing for him. Make him a tray, since he was too embarrassed to come down and meet them all for dinner. Show him that someone at Downton was sorry.

Anna took care with the tray, wanting it to look nice but not too fussy. It was clear he wasn’t a fussy man. She liked that about him. He was plain, simple, like she was.

The silent walk had been drilled into her as soon as she started in service. “A good servant never lets her footsteps disturb the family.” So it was no surprise that Mr. Bates didn’t hear her coming. And when she saw that he was weeping—tears that made it look like this was his last chance, and he had nowhere else to go—her heart ached. She wanted to put her arms around him, not meaning anything by it, just comfort. But if she tried anything of the sort, she was sure he’d snap at her, just as he had when she had helped him up earlier. Anna could understand; she’d want to go it on her own, as well, with no one to feel sorry for her.

So she did the kindest thing she could think of. She backed up a few steps and called his name, then waited until he opened the door fully so he could have time to compose himself.

“I brought something up, in case you were hungry.”

“That’s very kind of you.” He hung his cane over his arm and took the tray, and all the while Anna stood there, frozen, unable to think of a thing to say. And she wanted to say something, anything, that might make a difference. If only she could.

He put the tray down inside his room and looked at her expectantly, as though wondering what she was still doing there.

“I’m ever so sorry you’re going,” she said.

“I’ll be all right.”

“Of course you will.” She paused, then added impulsively, “There’s always a place for a man like you.”

“Oh, yes.” He took the remark as a sop, to judge by the twist of his lips. “Something will turn up.”

Then Anna knew. When he tried to put a brave face on it, when she had no further excuse to talk to him, when it was the last thing she was going to get to say to him. She knew she couldn’t let him go without at least trying to find a way to hear from him again. “Tell us … when you’re fixed. Just … drop us a line.” Her throat felt tight, but she refused to cry. He’d think her silly, for sure. “Else I’ll worry.” She smiled.

“Well, we can’t have that.” Was she imagining things, or was there an acknowledgement of a missed opportunity in his answering smile? She must have been, because as she kept bravely smiling, he stepped back and closed the door on her.

Anna turned and walked down the hall, glad there was no one there to see her shoulders slump or to hear the sniffle she couldn’t hold back.


	3. Smile

_April 1912_

They were all at breakfast when Mr. Bates came in, his cane thumping the floor, and calmly took his seat in the startled silence.

“Mr. Bates!” Mr. Carson exclaimed. “You’re still here.”

“His lordship asked me to stay.”

Anna bit the inside of her cheek to keep hold of the smile that wanted to spread across her face. Mr. Bates didn’t look at her, or he might have seen the happiness in her eyes. No matter. He would stay, and there would be time.

She wanted to say something to him, but she felt shy about it. Instead she ate her breakfast, and did her work about the house, all the while wondering if there was something she could do, a little token, that would say she was glad he had stayed.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Bates was relieved to close his door behind him that night; relieved that it still was his door. He had been very surprised when Lord Grantham had stopped the car and asked—told—him to stay. Surprised, and relieved enough that it hadn’t mattered that none of the other servants had seemed pleased to see him at breakfast. Even Anna had simply stared at him wide-eyed and then gone back to her porridge. He didn’t know what he had expected, but he had hoped that they were developing a friendship. She had been supportive of him from the start—maybe he hadn’t been appreciative enough of that support.

He sighed, leaning back against the door and closing his eyes. It had been a long day and his leg was beginning to ache. He would get used to the stairs, in time. The other servants would get used to him, in time, or so he hoped. Well, the first footman, Thomas, wouldn’t, not anytime soon. He’d had his eye on the valet’s job, that was clear, and his nose would surely stay out of joint for a while yet. But that was a small problem, all things considered. If Bates could continue to please his lordship and could win Mr. Carson over, his place would be secure and he would never again need to be in such dire straits as those he’d been through before he came to Downton.

He sank down on the bed, stretching out his leg, but biting back the groan that came to his lips. Even in private, such self-indulgence was a bad idea. The less attention he called to his injury, the better. Still, it felt good to be off of it. He shrugged his coat off his shoulders, picking it up to fold it carefully. He would hang it up as soon as he’d rested a moment.

As he laid it aside, Bates caught sight of something colorful sticking out of his right-hand pocket. He hadn’t put anything there. Frowning, he reached in, wondering if Thomas had left him something offensive while he wasn’t paying attention.

But it was far from offensive. It was a bookmark, embroidered with a pattern of bright yellow tulips. He could guess where it came from. She must have slipped it into his pocket during dinner. Apparently she had quick hands, that one. The motif, while a bit fanciful for his taste, seemed highly appropriate—Anna reminded him of a tulip, cheerful and fresh and pretty. This must have been hers, as there wouldn’t have been time for her to make a new one today. Bates appreciated the gesture more than he could say. It meant a lot to know that someone was pleased to see him stay, pleased enough to want to mark the occasion with a gift of friendship. It occurred to him briefly that it might be an overture to something more than friendship. He firmly squashed the immediate leap of his pulse. Anna was a lovely girl, but he was no man for her, or any woman.

Still. He studied the bookmark, then reached for his book, a copy of _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ he had bought from a used bookseller. It was a worn old volume, and the flowers looked particularly cheerful against it. The contrast made him smile, and John Bates hadn’t had much to smile about in a long time.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The next evening there was a brief time of quiet at the end of the night, seated in the servants’ hall, and he took out his book, opening it to display the bookmark before he started to read. Anna was darning a sock next to him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her glance at him and smile. He lifted the book just a little, in a subtle salute to thank her, and she dipped her head in response.

The fact that the whole byplay appeared to have gone unnoticed by Thomas and his crony O’Brien was an extra victory.


	4. Lucky to Be Here

_July 1912_

By the time Mr. Bates had been at Downton for a couple of months, it was more or less established that Anna would hang back and walk home from church with him on Sundays. Occasionally Mrs. Hughes would walk with him, but the housekeeper was generally in too much of a hurry to accommodate Mr. Bates’ slow pace.

The day was overcast, with occasional sprinkles of rain. Everyone else had hastened ahead, to get back to Downton to hot cups of tea hastily gulped down before the family needed them. Anna wasn’t in any rush, however. It was her favorite part of the week, and a little rain couldn’t hurt.

“You know, you don’t have to wait for me,” Mr. Bates said. “You should hurry up and go get dry.”

“It’s only a bit drizzly. I like it—it’s refreshing. We don’t get out in the rain and weather much.”

“No, I don’t suppose we do.” He glanced up at the sky. “It’ll be more than drizzly soon, unless I miss my guess.”

With an arch look, Anna asked, “So you predict the weather, now, Mr. Bates?”

He smiled. “I can count storm clouds.”

“That’s just taking the easy way out,” she scoffed, grinning.

Chuckling, Mr. Bates shook his head. “I am sorry to disappoint you, then.”

“You haven’t so far.”

He looked at her sharply, then back up at the clouds. “I hope his lordship can say the same.”

“I would think so. Lady Mary says he looks much better turned out than when Watson was here.”

“Does she?” Mr. Bates frowned. “I suppose there’s a lot of gossip in a big house like this one.”

“It’s difficult to do someone’s hair without talking to them, and what else do we have in common with the young ladies?” Anna shrugged. “No one means any harm by it. Well, except O’Brien. You want to be careful there—Lady Grantham listens to O’Brien.”

“Yes, so I’ve gathered. Thank you for the warning.”

“I wouldn’t want to see you get into any kind of trouble.”

“That’s kind of you.”

It wasn’t, not at all. It was selfish. She liked talking to him; she liked walking with him; she liked sitting next to him at table, their arms brushing sometimes. She liked his occasional smiles and his eloquent eyes. In the short time they’d known each other she’d learned that while he could school his face to show little to nothing of what he felt, he didn’t have quite the same control over his eyes. It was the only drawback to walking next to him; it was much harder to see his eyes this way. “Mr. Bates, do you like it here at Downton?”

“I’m very lucky to be here.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t, is it.” He tilted his head, giving her that curiously intense look of his. “I do like it here, Anna, very much. Thank you for asking.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

` At that the heavens opened up, his storm clouds finally reaching them. Despite the rain dripping off the rims of their hats, they were both perfectly content.


	5. Developing

_September 1912_

Bates was startled to walk into the servants’ hall and find only Anna sitting there, polishing a shoe. Usually the hall was bustling, filled with people, and he could sit next to Anna and enjoy her company while still blending into the rest of the servants’ lively chatter. The weeks he had been at Downton had been busy ones, and overall happy ones, and the small, neat woman at the table was a large part of the reason for that. But she also gave strong indications of developing an interest in him beyond friendship, and while Bates was flattered—who wouldn’t be, at the attention of a woman like that?—it was not a situation he could allow to grow.

“Where is everyone?” Possibly some of his dismay had bled into his voice.

Or possibly Anna was nervous to be alone with him. She seemed it, as she answered. “They’ve all gone down to the village. Some traveling salesman set up at the pub for the afternoon.”

In a clumsy attempt to break the tension, he said, “Alone at last,” and regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth, because Anna blushed a little, and smiled a little, and gratifying as both of those were, he simply couldn’t go down that road. “We shouldn’t be without both footmen,” he went on more briskly, sitting down and beginning to spread out the newspaper and jacket he had brought in. “Does Mr. Carson know?”

“Mrs. Hughes does. She’s gone with them. They won’t be long.”

There was silence between them. Uncomfortable silence, which was unlike what he was used to in her presence. “So … you see to the girls and you’re supposed to be head housemaid. You should put in for a raise.”

She gave him her arch look. He liked that look—it brightened up her whole face. “What do you mean, ‘supposed to be’?” She laughed, and Bates was relieved to find the tension had shifted. He was just settling in to enjoy this rare interlude of friendly companionship when the bell rang.

Just as well, he thought as he moved through the house toward the front door. Too much time alone with Anna could be a dangerous thing. She wasn’t the only one who appeared to be developing an interest that went beyond friendship.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Later that afternoon, after the surprising revelation that the solemn, dignified Mr. Carson had once been on the halls as a performer, Bates and Anna walked down the stairs together. She matched her steps to his with no indication that his halting pace was slowing her usually quick steps.

“Poor Mr. Carson,” she said. “We’ll have to treat him like a god for a month, just to calm his nerves.”

“He’ll be afraid this will change the way we think of him,” Bates said.

Anna broke in, “Then we mustn’t let it.”

“Oh, but it will. ‘The Cheerful Charlies’?” They both broke into uncontrolled giggles. Bates couldn’t remember the last time he had shared a genuine laugh with someone. “For all his talk of dignity, we know his story now.”

“And admire him more because of it,” Anna said stoutly.

“Maybe.” Sobering, Bates repeated, “But it will change the way we think of him. It always does.”

“I don’t see why. I wouldn’t care what I found out about you. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t alter my opinion one bit.”

Bates froze. How young she was. He rarely found the difference in their ages to be notable, or even worth remembering, but she knew so little of the wider world. She couldn’t imagine the things he had done. “But it would,” he said, softly but decisively. “It certainly would.” He turned away from her before she could say anything, because, judging by the stiffness in her stance and the stubborn set to her lips, she hadn’t been convinced, and he had no desire to pursue the conversation any further.

It occurred to him that if he told her, it would be one way to see to it that she quashed this interest in him that she seemed to be developing, but he found he couldn’t bear the thought, even if it would be for the best. Despite all his efforts to the contrary, this smart, funny, strong little woman had managed to make herself very important to him in the short time they’d known each other.


	6. Foolish Vanity

_March 1913_

God, his leg hurt. Bates paused in the hallway, putting his hand out to steady himself against a convenient table. Was it really worth this nightmare, the pain even sharper and more constant than usual? There was no indication that the brace was working, for all of that. He gritted his teeth, trying to work up the nerve to put his weight back on it, and cursed his foolish vanity. What had he hoped for? That somehow he could go to a quack and resolve in a few weeks an issue that had been plaguing him on and off for years? And why—to impress Anna? To shut Thomas up? To finally prove to Lord Grantham that he could handle the job?

Shifting the leg, he felt a trickle of blood run out from under the brace, and grimaced at himself. When those cuts got infected and the leg had to be cut off from gangrene, who would be impressed then?

Gingerly, he tried to put his weight on it, and tried to bite back the cry that came with the movement. It came out as a groan, however, and as luck would have it, Mrs. Hughes came by just as he was trying to shift the brace’s position and ease some of the pain.

“Mr. Bates, I am going to have to insist that you tell me what is the matter.”

With all his will, he managed to stand straight without allowing the pain utterance. “I thought it was for Mr. Carson to give me orders.” He tried for a smile, but from Mrs. Hughes’ expression, he had missed.

“Mr. Carson’s no better than any other man when it comes to illness. Now tell me what it is and I’ll see what I can do.”

“It’s nothing. Truly. I twisted my bad leg and walked on it too soon. I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

She frowned at him. “Well, if it isn’t, I’m sending for the doctor.” To Bates’s dismay, Anna appeared next to the housekeeper. Mrs. Hughes handed her some things she’d been carrying. “You left these behind in the Blue Room, when you were dressing Lady Mary for the kill.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hughes.” Anna looked up at Bates, and she, too, frowned. “Are you all right?”

“He is not all right and he will not tell me why.”

There was something amusing about the situation—these two small women wearing identically threatening expressions of frustration and concern, holding him at bay. Bates chuckled. “A man’s got to have some secrets.”

Anna’s eyebrows lifted. “But he can have too many.”

It was a well-aimed shot, straight and true, and it hit too close for comfort. Bates cleared his throat. “Excuse me.” And he walked past them, refusing to give voice to the excruciating pain.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
By the time Bates was dressing Lord Grantham the next morning, only his last shreds of pride were keeping him on his feet.

His lordship was distracted by the affair of the Turk as he held out his arm for Bates to fasten his cufflinks. “Of all the men on earth—I mean, he looked so fit. Dr. Clarkson said it was a heart attack. Did you see any signs?”

“I didn’t have much of a chance to study the gentleman.” Anna had, though, Bates thought sourly. She’d been open in her admiration of the Turk’s beauty. The stab of jealousy was a momentary distraction from the pain that came when he reached for his lordship’s coat … but only momentary.

“You don’t suppose there was something sinister in it? Every day the papers warn us of German spies, and they did say his presence was essential for peace in Albania.”

German spies at Downton? Hardly likely. “I doubt it, m’lord,” he said mildly. “Anyone wanting to poison his food would have to get past Mrs. Patmore.”

“Blimey, that’s a thought. Unless, of course, she’s a spy herself.” Lord Grantham chuckled and turned to Bates for an answering smile, which he didn’t get. Bates had moved his leg and the resulting stab of pain had taken his breath away.

The effort of standing there was almost too much; Bates could feel tears welling behind his eyes from the agony, and now Lord Grantham could see them, too, it appeared.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong, Bates. You’ll be in no trouble—I only want to help.”

With some difficulty, Bates managed to speak normally. “I know that, your lordship, and I am grateful. Truly. But there is nothing I need help with.”

Lord Grantham clearly wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t pursue the subject. He left the room, and Bates immediately doubled over, breathing heavily to avoid giving voice to the pain. Hearing a noise at the door, he tried to stand straight, but wasn’t quick enough to keep Mrs. Hughes from seeing him as she came in.

“Now will you kindly explain what in heaven is going on?” Her tone brooked no argument, but he tried one anyway.

“I’m perfectly well, Mrs. Hughes. A bit stiff, that’s all.” The words would have been quite convincing if he could have said them without gasping.

For a moment, he thought she had been appeased, as she began to pull the door closed. Only once it was shut did he realize she hadn’t been going out. She was now standing firmly in front of him, a surprisingly intimidating figure, for all her slight build. “Just so long as you know I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

The point was clear—if she wasn’t leaving, neither was he. Bates sank into the nearest chair, groaning with relief as he took his weight off the leg. “I hope you have a strong stomach,” he said, pulling up his trousers to display the ruin the brace was slowly making of his already damaged leg. He tried to hold her gaze, but he couldn’t, for the shame of the weakness and foolish pride he was revealing.

Mrs. Hughes caught her breath. “Oh, my God.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and Bates was hard put not to weep himself at the understanding he saw in her face. “You stubborn, stubborn man. I won’t ask what on earth you were thinking, but you know as well as I do, that thing has to go.”

He nodded, still reluctant to give up the dream of being whole and capable again. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“’Suppose,’” she echoed, the sarcasm evident in her tone; Bates was relieved that she was offering him the dignity of a scolding, rather than forcing him to accept her sympathy, or worse, her pity. “You know I’m right. Come now.” She reached out for him, helping him to his feet. It seemed wrong to lean on this fragile woman, but Bates could do nothing else—the pain was too great to walk steadily unassisted. “I’m going to help you to your room, you’re going to take that dreadful thing off, we’re going to clean your leg—“ He made a noise of protest, and she sighed. “Fine, you’re going to clean your leg. And then we’re going to go throw that horrible instrument of torture into the lake.”

“I am perfectly capable—“

“Of keeping it and trying it again just to make sure,” she said tartly. “I’m going to make sure it’s destroyed, Mr. Bates, or I’ll tell Lord Grantham all about it.”

That silenced him, as she had known it would. His respect and affection for her grew.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
When the clean-up was done, they wrapped the brace up so it wouldn’t be seen and left the house like a pair of conspirators. His leg felt better already; the normal pain was bliss compared to the way the brace had felt. Bates followed the housekeeper’s quick, firm steps across the boards to the edge of the lake, taking the brace when she handed it to him.

“Well.” He glanced at her, but she was unmoved. “Here goes.” Bates lifted the thing, preparing to throw it in.

But Mrs. Hughes put a hand out, staying him. “Do you not think we ought to say a few words?”

He looked for humour in her eyes, but she appeared quite serious. “What, ‘good riddance’?”

“That.” She smiled. “And your promise.”

“Very well.” She wasn’t going to let him off the hook, and he felt an irritation. What business was it of hers if he wanted to improve himself? “I promise I will never again try to cure myself. I will spend my life happily as the butt of others’ jokes, and I will never mind them.”

Her mouth turned down, and he felt very small suddenly. He’d never noticed how much she reminded him of his mother before. “We all carry scars, Mr. Bates, inside or out, and we must all put up with them as best we can. You’re no different to the rest of us; remember that.”

“I will try to. That I do promise.”

She turned to face the pond expectantly, and he took a moment to aim and then tossed the wretched thing as far as he could.

“Good riddance!” Mrs. Hughes said, laughing a little.

As he watched the bubbles dissipate, Bates couldn’t help mourning the dream. For a brief time, he had had hopes of becoming again the strong, capable man he remembered being … but then, that man had been crippled on the inside, instead, and he never wanted to be that again. If a limp and a cane were the price he paid for sobriety, and the friendship of good people like the woman standing next to him, perhaps they were worth having.


	7. All Right

_April 1913_

For at least the dozenth time that week, Anna found herself staring off into the air. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the cold, clammy feel of the dead Turk’s arm against her, or the odd, unpleasant smell of his body. The distance from Lady Mary’s room to the bachelors’ corridor had seemed so much farther than usual as she and Lady Grantham staggered along bearing that unforgiving weight—

This time it was Thomas who caught her just standing there. He cleared his throat loudly behind her. “Some of us have heavy trays to carry, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Hastily she got out of his way, letting him carry the laden tray of the luncheon entrees past her.

William was behind him, and he paused long enough to ask, “Anna, are you all right?”

“Fine. Fine, thank you.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he went on, carrying the tureen of sauce. Anna watched them go, thinking how heavy the body had been as they hauled it across the house. Lady Grantham was stronger than Anna would have given her credit for—both physically and mentally. There was no indication in her manner afterward that anything amiss had occurred; she didn’t allude to it in deed or manner. Quite unlike Lady Mary, whom Anna would have thought of before as the strong one. She had gone completely to pieces, weeping all over the house for a man she was supposed to have barely met. Anna tried to model herself after Lady Grantham. She was a servant, after all, and servants were supposed to be impassive. But it wasn’t quite so easily done as she’d hoped—the memories of that night seemed impossible to put away completely.

She turned away from the stairs to find Mr. Bates standing in the doorway, his eyes soft with concern. If she could have told anyone, she would have taken him aside. He would have understood, she was sure of it, and the burden of the secret would have been easier for having shared it with someone who wasn’t as intimately involved in it as their ladyships. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t her secret to tell, and she would keep mum if it killed her. Anna looked away while her resolve held, before she pulled him into somewhere private and whispered into his ear how strange it had been, how she seemed to see those wide, staring eyes in the dark at night—

“Anna, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Mrs. Hughes asked, coming past as she stood there wool-gathering.

“Yes, Mrs. Hughes. I’m sorry.” She seemed to be apologizing a lot these days. That would have to stop, Anna told herself firmly. She would have to pull herself together and forget that night ever happened—if she wanted to keep her job and her sanity, at least.

There was a touch on her shoulder, and she jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach, unusually enough. “Anna? Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Bates.” Anna turned to smile up at him, trying to set him at ease.

“You seem distracted recently. I hope it’s nothing I’ve— That is …” He appeared unusually tongue-tied, and Anna was quick to shake her head.

“Nothing like that, don’t worry. I’d say, if so.”

He chuckled. “I believe you would. But something is bothering you. I can tell. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No,” she said regretfully. Much as she would have liked to have told him, it wasn’t her place. Certainly if Mr. Bates knew something about another person, he would be the first to keep the secret to himself, she thought. She could do no less. “Thank you for asking, but I’m all right now.”

“So you admit you weren’t before?”

He was quick, catching her out like that. It was one of the many things she liked about him. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it.” His voice was very soft, and for a moment she wondered if she had heard right. Mr. Bates’s eyes were focused on hers, making her feel, as he always did, that she was really being seen. It was a rare and wonderful feeling for a servant, who so often had to be all but invisible. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked. He was leaning down to hear her better, looking so seriously into her face, and Anna felt an unaccustomed flutter in her stomach. She was conscious of a wild wish that he would kiss her, right here in the hallway. If he was a different man, he might have … but Mr. Bates was nothing if not honourable. It was something she treasured in him, that sense of honour. Nonetheless, all thoughts of the Turk had fled right out of her mind, and she couldn’t help reaching out to touch the man responsible for that miracle.

She put her hand on his forearm and squeezed it. “You’ve already done it. Thank you.” Hurrying away, she got back to work, leaving him looking after her in confusion. She would put out of her mind the memory of the scene in Lady Mary’s room and what followed, for good. That had been a nightmare. But dreams were far more pleasant to think of, and Anna had any number of dreams she could call up—most of which centered around the big man with the tender eyes.


	8. Plain, Everyday Moment

_April 1913_

Bates was moving toward the servants’ hall when he came around the corner and was barrelled into by a small, fast-moving body. Instinctively, his free hand shot out to grasp Anna’s elbow in order to steady her, and he looked down to be certain she was all right.

That was his first mistake. As their gazes met, his breath caught in his chest. His skin prickled with her nearness. From the widening of her eyes and the slight parting of her lips, she felt the same awareness he did. It was impossible to look away, impossible to move, impossible to think of anything but how beautiful she looked with her cheeks flushed that way. Flushed for him; he had no illusions there. If she had run into Thomas or William she’d have gone past without a second thought. But she had run into him, and now here she stood in front of him with her eyes starry and her breath coming in short gasps. It would be so easy just to lower his head and—

And he had no right to do so. The reminder was like a bucket of ice water down his spine. He dropped his hand from her arm and stepped back, leaving Anna confused and, yes, clearly a bit hurt. Much as he hated to hurt her, this had to stop between them. Better to do it now than later. He should say as much, he thought.

From the servants’ hall a bell pealed, and O’Brien’s sharp voice called out, “Lady Sybil’s ringing. Anna, are you down here?”

“Oh, her water bottle!” Anna turned from him with a start, hurrying toward the kitchen.

For once, Bates was glad to see her go. That plain, everyday moment where they ran into each other, as could so easily happen any day in the busy servants’ hallways, had shown him just what a temptation she was. He turned, limping outside to try to clear his head. It was dark out, which he was glad for. He wanted to hide a bit. But it seemed he wasn’t the only one with that idea—William was standing in the shadows against the house. He looked at Bates as he came out, but didn’t speak.

They stood there in silence, each thinking long thoughts, for a while. Bates was concerned for William, whose crush on Daisy seemed all-but-hopeless, especially with Thomas sticking his oar in where it wasn’t wanted. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said at last.

“You’d be wasting your money.”

Bates shrugged. “It’s mine to waste.”

William sighed heavily. “I was just wondering why we get so drawn to people who have no interest in us. What’s nature playing at?”

“If you find out the answer to that, lad, you’ll put the poets out of business.” Bates chuckled.

There was a small answering smile on William’s face, and he looked very young. “But … you can’t make someone love you, can you?” The answer he was hoping for was obvious enough, but Bates had been distracted by the memory of a pair of blue eyes.

“No,” he said. “You can’t make them not love you, either, which is just as hard.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” William said bitterly.

“Not yet, maybe. But you will.”

William snorted in disbelief and excused himself, leaving Bates to look up at the stars. They weren’t as bright as Anna’s eyes, he thought. Not even close. Apparently you couldn’t make yourself not love someone, either, even if it was in their best interests.


	9. Open the Door

_May 1913_

Bates was used to seeing Anna flitting through the servants’ hall, constantly in motion, or seated at the table in the servants’ hall, hands busy mending or doing other handwork. Still, he hadn’t seen her all day today, and frankly—and most disquietingly—he missed her. As Gwen rushed by him, he called to her.

“Yes, Mr. Bates?”

“Where’s Anna? Is she well?”

“Sick in bed, Mr. Bates. Just a cold, but Mrs. Hughes thought it best that she get some rest.”

“Ah. Thank you, Gwen.”

She hurried off.

Reassured though he was, the rest of the day there was still that disquieting sense that everything was just a little bit off, because there was no chance to catch Anna’s eye and know that they understood each other. That feeling, of being so familiar with another person that you didn’t have to talk to know you knew what the other was thinking, was utterly alien to Bates, and he found now that it was gone that he was hungry for it.

He was a fool. He had no business thinking about her, or feeling things for her, but how could he help it? … He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he couldn’t.

Once the others had gone to the fair, he sat with O’Brien and the new chauffeur Branson in the servants’ hall, sorting collars. Much as he disliked asking questions of O’Brien—to show interest in anything was to put your interests in the lady’s maid’s hands—she was the only source he had for the information he wanted. So he asked after Anna, and got sharp insults in return that nevertheless contained the news he was after, that Anna was still sick in her bed.

He hated to think of her up there alone in the dark while everyone else was at the fair. Especially considering that if she had been well, he’d have gone to the fair with her and relished every moment spent at her side.

Getting up, he excused himself and put away the collars before going into the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore was writing in her ledger, her nose practically pressed into the pages. As he came in, she sat back with a heavy sigh, picking up her teacup and stretching her legs out in front of her.

“All on your own?” Bates aked.

“And isn’t it a blessed relief.”

It was awkward, standing there with the cook looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell her what he was doing there. “I was just wondering if anyone had taken Anna up some supper.”

Mrs. Patmore narrowed her eyes, squinting up at him, and Bates felt like a butterfly pinned to a card and on display. “Well, if they haven’t, she’ll have to starve. I cannot put any more weight on these sad and aching feet tonight.” She sighed, putting the teacup down. “I’m sure Gwen will take her up something when she gets back from the fair. Of course,” and now there was a rather sly look on the cook’s face, “that might be hours yet, if they’re having so much fun.”

If he were a different sort of man, he would be blushing right about now. There was no question that the cook understood what he was doing there—and worse, why Anna’s supper was so important to him. He hadn’t reckoned on being so transparent when he had this idea in the first place. He’d only been thinking about Anna’s well-being.

He cleared his throat. “Could I ask you a small favor, Mrs. Patmore?”

“Depends what it is, naturally.” Yes, definitely a sly look. She was going to make him ask.

“I wondered if you’d mind if I put a tray together for Anna.”

“Hm. Just a little bite to eat?”

“Yes.”

“All right … but just this once. Don’t go thinkin’ you can meddle around in my kitchen at all hours,” she warned him, turning back to her ledger and squinting at the entry she’d just written.

“I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of your kindness, Mrs. Patmore.”

Bates took his time, putting the tray together carefully and with thought for what Anna might find appetizing. It was far more than “just a little bite” by the time he was done. And he couldn’t resist adding some flowers that had come down from the dinner table. She was far prettier than the blossoms, he thought, and cursed himself for a romantic fool who had no right to be anything of the sort.

Mrs. Patmore looked up as he left the kitchen, eyeing the tray with a knowing smirk, but she said nothing.

It was a bit of a job carrying the tray up the stairs without dropping anything or letting anything topple over, but he made it at last, and stood knocking at the door separating the men’s corridor from the women’s.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Anna was sitting up in bed, trying to focus on her book over the pounding in her head, and trying not to think resentfully of all the others at the fair. Mr. Bates was probably there, wandering around. Or was he? She found she couldn’t picture him there. Not without her, at least. But what fun it would have been to go with him.

She heard a knocking sound and looked up from the words she couldn’t make sense of anyway. It came again, and she got up, throwing a shawl around her shoulders and making her way into the hall. Someone was knocking at the door separating the corridors. In the shadow of the frosted glass, it looked like a big person with broad shoulders.

Anna’s heart sped up. What could Mr. Bates want? Was he checking on her, concerned for her well-being?

He called her name.

“Mr. Bates?”

“Open the door!”

She looked around. The floor was deserted; there was no one to see. But still, rules were rules … “I daren’t. No one can open that door except Mrs. Hughes.”

“Just for a moment. I’ve brought you something.”

He had? What could it be? The curiosity was overwhelming. She lifted the latch and unfastened the lock to see him holding a dinner tray. A pretty one, with a vase of flowers; he had gone to a lot of trouble, it seemed. How had he gotten that tray all the way up the stairs, with his leg the way it was?

It was such a lovely gesture, and she wanted to take it, but there would be questions, and she’d have to explain … “I don’t know if I should—“

“Sh.” He held out the tray, clearly not taking no for an answer, and Anna couldn’t help but smile as she accepted it. He smiled back, and they stood there for a moment, looking at each other, as she held the tray. She wanted to ask why he had brought it. She wanted to ask if he had missed her when she wasn’t downstairs, the way she had missed him while she was confined to her room. But before she could decide what and how to ask, there was a noise from the hallway behind him. They both jumped, and she hurried to close the door between them, much as she hated to.

Still, even if she hadn’t been able to actually speak, there had been more in his eyes than friendship, she thought, lifting the sweet-smelling flowers to her nose. He felt something for her, and had shown it for the first time—that was treasure enough for one night. She savored every bite that was on the tray he had so carefully prepared, and the food tasted all the better for it.


	10. It Wasn't the Same

_May 1913_

Bates was sitting at the table in the servants’ hall, cleaning a top hat. He frowned at the stain down the side. What on earth had his lordship walked under?

Then Mrs. Hughes came in, with a pale but smiling Anna right behind her. The hat forgotten, Bates practically leapt to his feet, he was so relieved to see her well. The days she’d spent in bed had been the longest of his sojourn at Downton so far. “Does this mean you’re better?” he asked. He would have winced at the eagerness in his own voice, but it appeared to go largely unnoticed by the assemblage in the room. Except, of course, for O’Brien, who sneered at him, and Anna, whose smile widened.

O’Brien said, “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. She doesn’t feel up to starting work.”

“I do. I want to,” Anna assured her. O’Brien sniffed, no more pleased with that answer than she would have been with the other. Nothing did seem to please O’Brien.

Mrs. Hughes patted Anna on the arm. “Not yet. Try a little mending, but that’s enough for now.” She put a sewing basket down at Anna’s place and pointed to it sternly. Or what would have passed for sternly in another woman. Mrs. Hughes’ soft heart was all too evident in the concern in her eyes as she waited to make sure Anna actually sat down.

Bates sat, as well, feeling immeasurably happier now that Anna was in her place at his side.

Anna dug into the basket, removing a torn apron. She sighed. “I wish she’d let me do more.”

“Of course you do,” O’Brien said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

They sat for a moment in silence while Anna threaded her needle and began mending the tear. “I hate being ill,” she said. “My mother used to look down on ill people. She used to say ‘oh, they’re always ill,’ as if it were their fault.”

Thomas blew out a long plume of smoke from his cigarette. “My mother worshipped disease. If we ever wanted to get anything out of her, we had to start by pretending to be ill.”

As Daisy laughed as though Thomas had said the funniest thing ever, Bates reflected how easy it was to see those two attitudes in Thomas and Anna’s differing approaches to life and work. One who shirked as much as he could, one who worked herself as hard as was necessary, and sometimes harder, to get things done right.

William snorted, glaring at Daisy. Poor fellow, he really had no chance as long as Thomas’s light continued to shine so brightly in the kitchen maid’s eyes. “You talk such rubbish.”

Daisy frowned at him. “Don’t say that.” To Thomas, she added, “Tell us more.”

But Mrs. Patmore was in the doorway of the kitchen. She waved a spoon. “Daisy, perhaps you can delay hearing Thomas’s life story, and come and help with the dinner.”

“Yes, Mrs. Patmore.” Daisy was on her feet immediately, heading for the kitchen, but not without a lingering glance at Thomas.

The byplay between the rest of the staff was the same as it had been yesterday, and the day before, but now Anna was back, her soft lips tightening as she watched Daisy go, and Bates could feel that someone else heard and saw things the same way he did. He leaned over, whispering, “Welcome back. It wasn’t the same, without you.”

O’Brien muttered to Thomas, not quietly, “Some people are easily pleased,” but it didn’t matter to Bates what she thought, because Anna was smiling and her cheeks were turning pink, and perhaps tonight after dinner they would sit together and talk quietly over their tea. Bates returned to the hat, feeling as though all was right again with his world.


	11. Poetry

_June 1913_

As Bates came through the kitchen into the servants’ hall, Daisy pushed past him with a serving fork in her hand. The fork snagged on the lower half of his sleeve, ripping the fabric.

“Oh, Mr. Bates, I’m so sorry!”

“Not to worry, Daisy. It was an accident.”

“Daisy, you foolish girl!” Mrs. Patmore scolded. “Next time, carry it the other way. You’ll have someone’s eye out if you carry it like that.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Patmore. Sorry, Mr. Bates.” The girl appeared near tears.

“No harm done, Daisy.”

He continued to the servants’ hall, wondering how exactly he was going to mend that tear. He could sew a bit, but the tines appeared to have gone right through, lining and all. It was more complicated than most of the sewing he’d been asked to do, and while it wasn’t his only coat, it was certainly the one in the best shape. He’d have quite a time replacing it, if he couldn’t fix it.

“What was all that about?” O’Brien asked sharply, looking up from the lace she was ripping off a frock.

“Nothing. Daisy caught my sleeve. It’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.”

Anna was reading a book in a rare moment of leisure. She looked up. “How bad is the tear?”

“It’s small, but a bit beyond my capabilities, I’m afraid. It’s all right. I have another one.”

“Let me see.” She was on her feet now, her book laid aside, and he moved past O’Brien so Anna could see the sleeve. Her little fingers brushing his arm through the cloth of his coat felt— No, they didn’t, not at all, he told himself sternly. Anna looked up at him. “I could sew this for you. It wouldn’t take any time at all.”

“No, thank you, Anna. I couldn’t ask you to do such a thing. You were reading.”

“You aren’t asking, I’m offering, and I can read another time.”

He knew that determined tone; he had already lost this argument. But he didn’t want her to give up her free time for him, not if he couldn’t offer anything in return. Perhaps … Hesitantly, he said, “I could read to you while you work.”

Anna’s lips parted, color rising in her cheeks. Her smile called an answering one from him as she said, “I’d like that very much, Mr. Bates. Thank you!”

“So the rest of us have to be exposed to whatever trash you were reading?” O’Brien complained.

“It’s just you, and you’re free to go elsewhere if you don’t like it,” Anna snapped back.

O’Brien subsided, grumbling under her breath. Bates shrugged his coat off, handing it to Anna, who hurried off to get her sewing kit. Bates took his seat at the table, picking up the book, hoping that Anna hadn’t been reading something he would be embarrassed to read aloud. He wasn’t a bit surprised to find that the practical, down-to-earth Anna was a poet at heart; the book was a volume of Wordsworth.

Careful not to lose her place, he flipped through the pages, looking for the poem that immediately sprang to mind. Daffodils weren’t tulips, exactly; they were a bit too delicate to be Anna. But they were cheerful and bright, as she was.

Anna came back with her sewing kit, the coat folded over her arm, and took her seat next to him.

“Do you mind if I flip around a bit, or should I pick up where you left off?” he asked her.

“Whatever you like, Mr. Bates, thank you.”  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Black thread on black fabric was never easy to work with, and she wanted this to look especially nice. Anna bent over the sleeve, pulling the edges of the tear together.

Next to her, Mr. Bates rustled the pages of the book, finding the poem he’d been looking for. He cleared his throat.

“’I wander’d lonely as a cloud’ …”

Anna tried to keep the heat from rising to her face. If he only knew that this was her dearest fantasy: the two of them sitting together as she worked and he read her poetry, his deep voice rising and falling, bringing the poet’s words to life. He took his time, not rushing the cadence as some might have, enunciating every word as though he was thinking about it as he read. She concentrated on breathing, on the needle moving through the cloth. Around her, the servants’ hall was filling up, the others staying quiet as they took their seats in deference to his reading.

“’In vacant or in pensive mood,  
They flash upon that inward eye  
Which is the bliss of solitude;  
And then my heart with pleasure fills,  
And dances with the daffodils.’”

There was a short silence after he finished the poem. Anna looked up from her sewing, meeting his eyes all too briefly before his gaze dropped as he riffled through the pages. She couldn’t say a word, her breath catching in her chest, and she was grateful for Daisy, who exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Bates, that was lovely! You could go on the stage!”

That broke the moment, to Anna’s relief, and clearly to Mr. Bates’s, as well. He chuckled. “Thank you, Daisy.”

“What’s all this, then?” Thomas asked, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

“Anna offered to mend my coat.”

“So you’re reading her poetry? Surely there are better ways,” Thomas said, his meaning clear.

Mr. Bates hadn’t missed the inference, either. He looked up at Thomas, his eyes flashing.

Anna jumped in before there could be further words between the two men. “Better than repaying a kindness with a kindness? I can’t think of any.”

Gwen, sitting on Mr. Bates’s other side, said, “I think it makes a nice change of pace. Read another, Mr. Bates, will you, please?”

“Of course.” He found a page, lifting the book, and began to read. “’In this still place, remote from men …’”

Anna returned to her sewing, losing herself in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I wandered lonely as a cloud” and “Glen-Almain”, from _Poems in Two Volumes_


	12. Always Sad

_August 1913_

Anna was halfway through making the bed in Lady Edith’s room, thinking about Gwen on her way to her job interview. She hoped the other girl did well; while she didn’t relish having to share her room with someone new, Gwen deserved to be able to do what she wanted. Everyone should, she thought. She didn’t envy Gwen, though, having to sneak around, and go amongst strangers, and answer questions.

With some surprise, she heard the faint tap of Mr. Bates’ cane, and saw him come around the door. “Shall I give you a hand?” he asked.

“Oh, would you? Takes half the time with two.” Industriously, she tucked the sheet under, trying to hide her happiness at seeing him. It wasn’t uncommon to run into him up here, especially if his work in Lord Grantham’s dressing room had taken extra time. But it was always a nice change of pace to see him in the middle of the morning.

Mr. Bates hung his cane on the doorknob and bent over the bed, tucking in the sheet on his side. “I always feel a bit sorry for Lady Edith,” he observed after a moment.

“Me, too,” Anna said. “Although I don’t know why, when you think what she’s got and we haven’t.”

They bent over, picking up the coverlet and pulling it up over the pillows. “Mrs. Hughes said she went after the other heir, Mr. Patrick Crawley, the one who drowned.”

“That was different. She was in love with him.”

Patting down the coverlet, Mr. Bates asked, “What happened?”

“She never got a look in. He was always set up to marry Lady Mary.”

“He’s a braver man than I am … Gunga Din.” Mr. Bates smiled, and Anna chuckled. Lady Mary certainly could be forbidding, especially when you didn’t know her well. As they straightened the coverlet, he said, “Sad to think about.”

Thinking of Lady Edith and her hopeless feelings for Mr. Patrick, Anna said, “It’s always sad, when you love someone who doesn’t love you back.” Only when she had finished the sentence did she think about what she had said and who she had said it to. She’d never spoken about her growing feelings for him, but he had to have noticed. Sometimes she was sure he knew, and even returned them, and other times she thought she must be imagining things. She couldn’t help adding, “No matter who you are.”

No question he had noticed that. His face froze, his eyes widening just a bit as he looked at her across the bed. Then he blinked, the sudden aware look disappearing. “No, I mean it’s sad that he died.”

Anna was disappointed. She had hoped the allusion might have shaken something out of him, some acknowledgement or explanation. He had to have seen how she felt about him by now. “Oh. Yes,” she said at last, her fingers restlessly smoothing the coverlet. “Very sad. He was nice.” She picked up the bundle of used sheets and Lady Edith’s candle, moving around the end of the bed toward the door, where he was waiting for her to go first. “Well, thank you for that. Much appreciated.”

“My pleasure.” She was almost through the door when he spoke again, and Anna stopped, turning to look up at him. “Perhaps … Mr. Patrick did love her back, he just couldn’t say.”

It was impossible to tell by his face or his eyes if he really meant Mr. Patrick or if he was talking about himself. Either way, Anna wasn’t sure why a man couldn’t say, if he loved someone enough. “Why ever not?”

“Sometimes we’re not at liberty to speak. Sometimes … it wouldn’t be right.”

As Anna watched him, sure now that he was talking about himself, and that he was trying to tell her not to care for him, he looked away. He pushed past her through the door with uncharacteristic rudeness. Anna stood there, stunned, for a long moment. That had been pretty clear, hadn’t it? She should settle for his friendship. That was valuable enough, after all, she tried to tell herself around the sudden emptiness she felt.

She walked down the hall with her bundle of dirty sheets, thinking that she did envy Gwen, after all. At least if she didn’t get this job, another one might be out there for her.


	13. Snuffbox

_August 1913_

As soon as Mr. Carson was out of the room, Miss O’Brien and Thomas had turned on Mr. Bates, making it clear who they thought it was who had taken the snuffbox. As if he’d steal, Anna thought indignantly. The gong rang, and everyone’s chairs scraped across the floor as they got up and hurried out. Mr. Bates stayed seated, and Anna looked at him with concern. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. Did he think she agreed with Thomas and Miss O’Brien? Did he think all the servants were against him?

“I hate this kind of thing. I hope to God they find it,” he said, his face tense. He did look at her now, and Anna tried to put all her concern for him, all her faith in his honesty, into her eyes. He didn’t seem to have seen it, though, because he turned away, his expression closing off. She couldn’t bear that look. “You’d better get a move on.” His voice was rough.

Anna couldn’t move. She hated to see him like this.

Mr. Bates got up instead, leaving the room. Reluctantly, Anna followed.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Bates moved as fast as he could, eager to get away from all the other servants for a time. He knew how this would go. The atmosphere of suspicion would thicken, they would all look at him with distrust, and eventually he would have to leave. Or, just as bad, he’d have to confess to his past.

Even Anna. That was what hurt the most, that she hadn’t known what to say. Oh, she’d spoken up for him against Thomas, but Bates had seen the pity in her eyes. He wouldn’t have her pity; he would not. He pounded the cane against the floor particularly firmly to emphasize his determination. If Anna thought he was a thief—if he ever saw suspicion in her eyes—he couldn’t bear that. Hard as he had tried to keep her from learning to care for him, he had come to depend on her warmth and her support.

Well. There was nothing to be done for it at the moment. He’d have to wait and see, and keep a weather eye out for the missing item.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“I hope they find that snuffbox,” William was saying earnestly as he carried a tray into the kitchen. “What happens if they don’t?”

“They’ll organize a search, won’t they?” Thomas said as Anna came in after him, carrying a tray full of serving dishes. “I wouldn’t be Mr. Bates. Not for all the tea in China.”

There was something smug in his voice that Anna didn’t like. But Thomas was always smug, and she never did like it. “Wouldn’t you, Thomas? I daresay he feels just the same about you.” Putting the tray down, she turned around to catch a long, smirking look between Thomas and Miss O’Brien. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked Miss O’Brien.

“Nothing.”

_Nothing, my eye_ , thought Anna. She walked out of the kitchen, wondering about them. A missing snuffbox, Mr. Bates all but accused by Thomas, and Miss O’Brien looking entirely too pleased with herself. Those couldn’t be coincidence.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Mrs. Patmore buried her face in her handkerchief. “I don’t see how it happened!”

_Poor woman_ , Bates thought. Clearly there was something wrong in the kitchen—Daisy wasn’t nearly as clumsy as Mrs. Patmore seemed to think she was—but salt and sugar were easily confused for each other. And nothing would be accomplished by all the staff standing around and staring at the weeping cook. “Come on everyone, let’s give Mrs. Patmore some room to breathe.” Passing by Anna, who had her hands on the cook’s shoulder, he said, “You, too.”

“I don’t think I should leave her,” Anna said.

“Yes, you should. Mr. Carson knows what he’s doing.” He had faith in Mr. Carson; he only hoped whatever was wrong with Mrs. Patmore was something that could be mended.

“Mr. Bates, wait,” Anna said, catching him up as he was passing Mrs. Hughes’ sitting room. She looked around to be sure none of the others were nearby. “I think I know where that snuffbox is.”

“Where?”

“Hidden in your room.”

It cut him even more deeply than he had imagined it would. Surely, she couldn’t suspect him so easily. Not Anna. “You don’t think that—“

“’Course I don’t!” She shook her head, a little smile crossing her face. “Silly beggar.”

“Then, why—“

“I bet Thomas would like it if they took you for a thief.”

Realization dawned. Of course. He was an idiot for not thinking of it earlier. And trust Anna to put the pieces together. “Yes, I expect he would.”

“Go upstairs now and find it.” A devilish twinkle came into her eyes. Bates found it captivating. “And when you have, you can choose whether to put it in Thomas’s room, or give it to me, and I’ll slip it into Miss O’Brien’s.”

“You naughty girl.” Naughty, and utterly delightful.

“Fight fire with fire. That’s what my mum says.” She hurried off, leaving Bates looking after her. Not only was she devious and clever, she had kept her head and come up with the answer while he was lost in a fog of fear and doubt. What an amazing woman.

He shook himself. This was no time to moon about—he needed to find that snuffbox, and damned quickly.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Everyone was seated in the servants’ hall as Anna hurried in. Mr. Bates looked up at her as she took the chair next to him, and she let her eyes twinkle at him.

“Mr. Carson,” she called. “We were wondering about that snuffbox. Has it turned up yet?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, I think we should have a search,” Mr. Bates said.

Both Thomas and Miss O’Brien froze, slowly lifting their heads to stare at him. “What?” Thomas asked.

“Doesn’t do to leave these things too long,” Mr. Bates said as the two men’s eyes held across the table, the challenge plain, at least to Anna.

“Mr. Carson can search the men’s rooms, Mrs. Hughes the women’s,” Anna said. “And it should be right away, now we’ve talked of it, so no one has a chance to hide the box. Don’t you agree, Mr. Carson?”

The butler clearly had no idea what was going on. “Perhaps it’s for the best,” he said, a little reluctantly. “Although I’m sure I won’t find anything. I’ll fetch Mrs. Hughes.” He turned away, walking down the hall.

No sooner had he done so than Thomas and Miss O’Brien were on their feet, hurrying out of the room.

Anna glanced at Mr. Bates, who was holding in his smile with some difficulty. She felt quite proud of herself. She had foiled the plot, cleared Mr. Bates, and proven to him that the other servants had faith in him.


	14. Just Come Out with It

_August 1913_

It was a beautiful day for a walk. And she was walking with Mr. Bates, which was always a good thing. But Anna wasn’t happy. She was frustrated with waiting for him to speak up. He had to know how she felt; she thought there was a good chance he felt something, too. But he wouldn’t say; he avoided the issue, pretending it didn’t exist.

So many times she had wanted to speak up herself, just get it out in the open. But generally women didn’t … and Anna didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship. If she spoke up and he didn’t return her feelings, it would be awkward, and they would still have to sit next to one another and work together and eat meals with one another. Anna had yet to be willing to take that risk. “What do you think will happen to Mrs. Patmore?” she asked instead.

“Oh, she’ll muddle through, with Daisy for help. In the long term, we’ll just have to wait for the doctor to give his opinion.”

“I hope there’s something they can do.”

“I hope so, too. But if there isn’t, I hope they tell her there isn’t. Nothing is harder to live with than false hope.”

And there he went again. He was dropping those remarks into their conversations more and more frequently, the ones that hinted at some obstacle between them and never actually came out and said anything. Frustrated, Anna stopped and snapped at him. “I wish you’d just come out with it.”

He stopped, too. “With what?”

“Whatever it is you’re keeping secret.”

Mr. Bates took in a perceptible deep breath and glanced toward the others, who were all far ahead out of earshot. Quietly, he said, “I can’t.”

“You don’t deny it, then?”

“No, I don’t deny it. And I don’t deny you’ve a right to ask. But I can’t.” He paused. “I’m not a free man.”

The sentence struck her like a blow. She’d thought of a previous marriage as one possible reason he wouldn’t speak, but she hadn’t imagined it could actually be true. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re married?”

“I have been married, yes, but that’s not all of it.”

Anna was struggling to keep her composure. She’d been prepared for him not to share her feelings; she’d occasionally dared to hope that he might return those feelings and simply not know about hers. But she hadn’t been able to steel herself against the incredible frustration of having her feelings returned and having him unable to do anything about it. He’d tried to warn her, suggesting that he wasn’t at liberty to say, but she still hadn’t wanted to believe it could be so. And he wasn’t telling her what the obstacles were, so she couldn’t even try to surmount them.

The words simply couldn’t be contained any longer. She gathered herself up, determining that she would speak out and make things plain on her side, even if he wouldn’t on his. “Because … because I love you, Mr. Bates.” He gave no reaction other than a softening of the eyes that she wouldn’t have seen if she wasn’t so familiar with him. She plunged on. “I know it’s not ladylike to say it, but I’m not a lady, and I don’t pretend to be.” And there it was, plain as she could make it.

“You are a lady to me. And I never knew a finer one.” Their eyes met, but he didn’t say anything further until they were interrupted by a carter coming by.

“If you want a lift, I can take one of you, but not more.”

Mr. Bates suggested she should go, but Anna thought it was only fair that he should, sparing his leg. And she wanted to walk, to think, to mourn the dreams that she had just barely begun to have, broken already. “No, you must go,” she said. “Then we can all hurry up and meet you there.”

“Yes, all right. Mustn’t slow you down.” In a different tone, he added, “I’ve done too much of that already.”

Anna looked at him reproachfully. As if it was his fault she’d gone and fallen in love with him. She was the one who had let it happen even in the face of his lack of encouragement.

Mr. Bates hopped into the cart and it rolled away, leaving Anna to walk quickly after it. She kept her eyes on the toes of her shoes, knowing that he was watching her and not wanting to lift her head to see any pity in his face.

What was she going to do? She’d begun to love him for who he was—he wasn’t going to stop being that. She hoped he wouldn’t stop being her friend, because that would hurt terribly, having to sit next to him and not be able to talk to him or count on his humour and his support.

Now, with the cart far up ahead, Anna lifted her head to look after him. She didn’t see that she had any choice, not really. She hadn’t chosen to fall in love with him. The way she looked at it, that had been all but done the moment he walked in the door at Downton. Falling out of love with him was even less in her control; she couldn’t live and work in the same house with him and not love him for everything that was good in him. She would just have to go on as she’d begun, she told herself, squaring her shoulders, and hope that someday something would change. And he would have to get used to being loved by her, whether he wanted to or not.


	15. What If He Told Her?

_August 1913_

Bates watched her for as long as she remained in view of the cart. How could you not admire a woman like that? He knew what bravery it had taken to put her cards on the table. It hurt not to be able to respond to her the way such a declaration deserved to be responded to. But she was wasting herself on him; he was not free to accept her love, and she had to know that straight out.

Even at that, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to the full truth. “Have been married?” He scoffed at himself. He was well and truly married and no mistake about it. There was no question in his mind that Vera would be back someday, out for whatever she could get from him. He hoped that when that day came, he could persuade her he was of no further use to her and convince her to get a divorce … but it was far more likely that he would have to leave Downton, instead, in order to get away from her. Besides, even if by some miracle he could convince Vera to let him go, what young woman would truly want a divorced man? Not able to be married in the church, looked down on by respectable people because of mistakes her husband had made in his past—that was no life for a fine woman like Anna. She said she loved him, but surely she hadn’t thought about what that might mean for her in the long run.

What if he told her? He could sit her down and tell her, straight out, all of it, the whole shameful mess of it, sparing himself no details. He could tell her that he had been a drunkard, that he had mistreated the only other woman who had been foolish enough to love him—both of them, if you counted his mother, whom he hadn’t been very nice to after the war. He could tell her about jail, about the theft he had taken responsibility for, about the lies he had told to keep those things from being known at Downton. 

The cart pulled up in front of the flower show. He got down, with a nod of thanks for the driver, and stood next to the hall, watching the road for her. He should tell her everything; she deserved no less. But he was a coward. He couldn’t bear to watch the trust and friendship and … yes, the love in her eyes disappear in shock and disdain.

They were all coming now, Anna having caught up to the rest. She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she went past, and Bates felt keenly the loss of the enjoyment he had looked forward to. It would have been so nice to walk next to her through the flowers, enjoying the rare day out at her side. Instead, he kept to himself, trying not to watch for her.

It wasn’t until the end of the program that he finally felt Anna in her usual place next to him and turned to look at her. The uncertainty and distress on her face cut him to the quick. He wished he could take it all back and tell her what she wanted to hear, but how much worse would it be later if he let her think there was a future, or room to hope? Honesty was the best thing for her, he told himself. She would get over it, in time, surely. She must—a woman like Anna could not be allowed to throw herself away on a man who could never be worthy of her.

He turned back to listen to the Countess reading off the names of the winners, but he heard none of them.


	16. Such Stubbornness

_September 1913_

Several weeks after the flower show, Anna was ironing a frock of Lady Sybil’s, a detailed gown with lots of darts and pleats, when she heard Mr. Bates’ distinctive tap in the hall. She looked up to see him standing in the doorway. Feeling her cheeks heat under his scrutiny, she turned her focus back to the dress, glad that it was so complicated because it gave her something to concentrate on while his eyes were on her. Unusually for him, he didn’t move, or speak, and at last she broke the silence.

“Have you never seen a woman iron before, Mr. Bates?”

Since her declaration, and the kind but firm manner in which he had closed that door, things were almost back to normal between them, and Anna was content with that—mostly. But it was obvious that he wasn’t; she kept catching him looking at her with that inscrutable expression, and she had been bracing herself for the moment when whatever was bothering him came bursting out.

Now was that time, it seemed, because suddenly he said, “I’m much older than you are.”

Anna didn’t bother to look up. “I know.”

“I haven’t led an … exemplary life.”

“I know.” Now she did look at him, after putting the iron carefully away. It was cooling, anyway. She’d have had to reheat it to keep ironing.

Mr. Bates looked up and down the hall, then stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “You have no idea.”

“Then tell me.”

“Anna.” There was pleading in his voice.

She put her hands on her hips. “No, Mr. Bates. It’s time to fish or cut bait. Either you tell me why I should try to stop myself loving you, and make it a good reason, or you have to get used to the idea that I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t.”

“On either score?”

“On either score.”

“Do you think so little of me that you imagine my respect for you would turn so quickly?”

“On the contrary. I think … so much of you that I … couldn’t bear to see it turn.” It was hard for him to say, she could see that, and it was the closest he had come yet to admitting to his own feelings.

“I told you once before that whatever I learned about you would make no difference in what I thought of you. I say so again now, Mr. Bates. No difference. None.”

They were silent, their eyes taking over the battle of wills. At last, he shook his head. “I simply can’t believe that.”

“Then you sell yourself, and me, very short.” Anna picked up the dress. It wasn’t nearly finished, but she didn’t care. She would convince Lady Sybil to wear something else this evening. “Excuse me.”

It looked for a moment as though he wasn’t going to let her pass, but she waited, patiently, and he opened the door. She left the room with quick, firm steps, as angry with him as she’d ever been. What purpose was there in holding on to such stubbornness?

It would have surprised her a great deal to know that he was thinking the same thing about her.


	17. The Whole Trouble

_November 1913_

Bates was sitting at the table in the servants’ hall with his book, enjoying a rare moment of solitude there, when he heard the sharp tap of footsteps coming down the stairs. His pulse quickened; it had to be Anna. No one else moved quite that briskly. Resolutely, he pulled the book closer, reminding himself that he didn’t care that it was her—no, that he _couldn’t_ care. He had to let her get over the feelings she had for him, so that she could find a man who was free to be what she needed.

But his head turned, anyway, to watch her coming down the stairs, eager as always for the first glimpse of her. He was trying to talk himself out of looking—he didn’t have the right—when he saw her foot slip on the step.

Everything afterward happened so fast he didn’t have a chance to even stand up, but it seemed at the same time to go so slowly that he could see every movement. Her arms flew out to catch herself, the pile of linens she’d been carrying falling all over the stairs. She took two stumbling steps and almost regained her balance, then tangled her feet in a pillowcase, which twisted her around so that her shoulder hit the wall on the landing, although at least that stopped her fall.

Anna put a hand on the wall to steady herself, the other going to her head. Bates dropped his book, his chair tipping backward to hit the wall as he got up. “Anna!” His heart was pounding; he had been so afraid she would hurt herself and he would be just sitting there, helpless. “Are you all right?” Before he could stop himself, he had reached out to touch her shoulder, gently probing to see if it was injured.

“I’m fine; just clumsy. Look at all those clean linens spoiled!”

“Never mind the linens. Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, really, I’m fine.” She was smiling at him now. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Bates, I have to pick these up and iron them all again before they can be put away.”

“Mind?”

Anna looked at his hand, which was still on her shoulder, his probing for injury having subtly turned into a caress, and then back at him. Her eyes were absolutely sparkling. Bates realized he had just confirmed everything she must have already suspected about how much he cared for her. He dropped his hand abruptly, and reached for the stair rail when his knee wobbled beneath him. He must have left his cane at the table, he’d been in such a rush to reach her. Anna slipped past him, hurrying to get the cane and bring it back to him. If that wasn’t just the whole trouble, right there, he thought. Here he was trying to make sure she was all right, and she turned around to take care of him instead.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the cane from her.

“Would you like me to get your book, as well?”

“No, thank you. Shall I help you pick these up?” He gestured to the fallen linens.

“I’ve got it all right.”

He nodded, shortly, irritated at himself, at her, at the long-missing Vera, at his bad leg … irritated just on general principles. He thumped away, back toward the servants’ hall. As he went through the doorway, he heard Anna call him.

“Mr. Bates?”

Turning his head, he met her eyes, seeing in them a happiness that hadn’t been there earlier. And he couldn’t help the small smile that came to his lips in response. He had tried, God knows he had tried, but what was between them couldn’t be denied.


	18. Gifts

_December 1913_

Anna had considered putting the small oblong parcel down amongst the other gifts the staff would be exchanging, but she felt shy about it. Most of the other servants seemed to know what was between her and Mr. Bates—or know as much as she knew, which wasn’t half enough to satisfy her—but she didn’t relish the idea of giving him a gift in front of them all. Thomas and O’Brien would no doubt have something rude to say and spoil the moment. Instead, she tucked it away, hoping that at some point during the day she could find a private moment to give it to him.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Bates put the present he had picked out for Anna into the pocket of his coat. When the time came to exchange gifts, would he have the courage to give it to her? He still wasn’t sure. He’d gone back and forth over whether to give her something at all. It was an open secret that they cared for one another, but he constantly felt guilty that he hadn’t kept better control of his emotions. At the least, maybe he could have kept her from knowing that he returned her feelings. But it was harder to do than it seemed, keeping himself aloof and formal when thrown together with her at various points all day long … and when everything in him yearned to be free to give himself to her.

Giving her a gift was only encouraging her to keep throwing her youth away caring for a man who didn’t deserve her. Or so he had told himself all the while he was selecting it and wrapping it. Still, she might be sad if he didn’t give her something. Maybe just this once, it wouldn’t send the wrong message.

Maybe just this once, he didn’t care what message he was sending.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Both of them watched each other anxiously as the servants exchanged their presents, but neither made a move toward their gift. Bates felt a completely unaccountable sting—he had been so sure she would give him something. And then felt like a hypocrite, since he had hoped she would see reason and wouldn’t get him anything.

Anna’s heart sank. She had thought that whatever obstacle was between them was at least shrinking enough to admit presents, but clearly she had been mistaken. She tried not to let him see that it bothered her, instead exclaiming over the handkerchief from Daisy and the lace collar from Gwen.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
It wasn’t until after the young ladies had gone to bed that she had a chance to come back down to the servants’ hall, and she was disappointed to find it empty. With a sigh, she slipped outside for just a moment. It was chilly, but not so cold that it was unbearable; and it was a rare chance to be alone. Except that she wasn’t. Her heart leaped when she recognized the tall figure standing outside.

“Mr. Bates!” she whispered. “What are you doing out here?”

“Anna? I could ask you the same question.”

“Just … came to look at the stars. They’re lovely, don’t you think?”

He glanced up, too, although he wasn’t thinking about the stars when agreed with her. He was thinking, instead, what a fool he was to have waited out here for her, pretending that he was stretching his leg. Despite his best intentions, he seemed unable to keep himself from getting entangled with her.

“Mr. Bates? Can I tell you something?”

More of her terrible, devastating, beautiful honesty? He wasn’t sure he could take it. “Of course.”

“I didn’t come out here to look at the stars. I came because it was the only place I hadn’t looked for you yet.”

“Anna.”

“Now, before you tell me I shouldn’t have …” She slipped her hand in her apron pocket and came out with his gift. “This is for you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have.” They both smiled, and he took her gift out of his coat pocket. “But this is for you.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time if you expect me to tell you you shouldn’t have. Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked, eyeing the package, still in his hand.

“You first.”

“Both at the same time, then.” So they both ripped off the paper at once. Each was holding a small book; Anna’s was bound in green paper, Bates’s in faded leather. “Shelley,” she said.

He looked at the spine of his book. “Shelley.”

They had given each other two different editions of the same volume of Shelley’s poetry. While Anna had selected it because she thought Shelley might be more suited to a man than Wordsworth or Byron, Bates had chosen it because he thought it was special and yet less romantic than Byron or Browning.

“Thank you, Mr. Bates.”

“Thank you, Anna. Merry Christmas.”

Her cheeks as red as the cold fingers she laid on his arm, she stood up on tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the cheek, before she could think better of it. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered before turning and running back inside the house.


	19. Back to Bite Him

_May 1914_

Anna came hurrying into the servants’ hall, suppressing a smile. “Her ladyship’s not best pleased at being told off in public,” she said, sinking into her chair. “William said she was looking daggers.”

Mr. Bates closed his book. “I’m sorry I started all this.”

Next to him, Mr. Branson leaned back in his seat. “Ah, it’s not your fault. Anyway, he ought to be glad he’s got a daughter who cares.”

Anna suspected Lord Grantham didn’t see things quite that way, but before she could say so Thomas appeared in the doorway.

“Her ladyship’s ready to leave,” he said to Mr. Branson, who stood up hastily. It didn’t do to keep the Dowager Countess waiting.

“I’ll bring the car around.” He took his jacket from the back of the chair, shrugging into it on his way out of the room.

Mr. Bates and Thomas were staring at each other, hard stares that looked a lot like arm wrestling. Mr. Bates had told her about finding Thomas stealing a bottle of wine, a circumstance that had sharpened the dislike and distrust between the two men.

“Pleased with yourself?” Thomas asked, before turning on his heel and leaving.

Anna caught Mr. Bates’ eye, hoping he wouldn’t let Thomas bait him. “Silly chump.” She smiled a little, but Mr. Bates didn’t.

“He’s nervous. He thinks I’m planning to tell Mr. Carson about the wine.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have stolen it, then, should he?” Anna would have told Mr. Carson straight away, none of this hesitating. Thomas would find a way to get out from under the threat somehow—it surprised her that Mr. Bates hadn’t already figured that out.

“No,” Mr. Bates replied, “but I don’t want anyone to lose their job because of me.”

“Even Thomas? Even after what they tried to do to you?”

“Even then.” He met her eyes across the table, and Anna couldn’t help smiling. Such a good, honest, decent man—she was proud to call him her friend, and she loved him all the more for the honour he displayed. But she couldn’t help the sense of foreboding she felt that somehow this decency would come back to bite him.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The following day was a busy one, and she’d had to spend hours on Lady Mary’s riding boots. It wasn’t until after dinner that Anna heard that Thomas had accused Mr. Bates of stealing the wine. Anna wished she had guessed that was what Thomas would do, so that she could have tried to prevent this cloud of suspicion from falling on Mr. Bates.

He was nowhere to be found in the servants’ area, not that she blamed him for that. No doubt he knew what type of gossip there would be, although Anna thought he sold himself short. Other than Miss O’Brien, every one of the servants would more easily believe Thomas a thief than they would Mr. Bates.

After a bit of searching, she found him sitting on some crates outside, his bad leg stretched out in front of him. Typical of him to retreat immediately rather than attempt to fight the accusation. Anna wished she knew what it was that he was so afraid of, why he refused to stand up for himself.

“I thought you must be out here.”

“And you’d be right.”

She sat on the crate next to him, wishing she could take his hand, or put her arm around him, or something comforting. Instead she settled for saying, “I know you’re upset.”

“Yes, I’m upset. I’ve been working here two years, and yet Mr. Carson has no difficulty believing the worst of me.”

“I think he has a great deal of difficulty,” Anna corrected him. “Which is why he hasn’t told his lordship yet.” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Can’t you just explain about Thomas?”

Shaking his head, Mr. Bates said, “Not now. It would sound like a false accusation.”

Well, of course it would, thought Anna. Which is why you should have spoken out as soon as you saw him. But one of the things she admired so about him was that he was too honourable to put someone else in danger. He’d said as much earlier. Still, though. “You can’t take it lying down. Because you’re not guilty of any wrong.” She was angry for him, she was angry with him for simply letting it be. “And before it’s over, I’m going to tell the world.”

“Are you?” he asked softly, a small smile crossing his face. “I’m not sure the world is listening.”

Anna shook her head. “You may not think so, but I have faith in Mr. Carson, and in his lordship. I think they’ll prove you wrong, if you give them the chance.”

“I hope you’re right.” But his tone indicated he didn’t agree.

Sighing, Anna got up. If it was up to her to fight for him, then that’s what she would do; she just wished he would fight, too.


	20. Honour and Integrity

_May 1914_

Mr. Carson was hounding Thomas. “Do you stand by your story?”

Bates appreciated that Daisy had recanted her false testimony; he even understood why the young girl, star-struck by Thomas’s good looks and charm, had been prevailed on to lie in the first place. But this … was too close. He would never know what Mr. Carson had actually thought, and he no longer felt he had any choice but to be honest with the butler and the housekeeper. And with Anna, who stood there glaring at Thomas.

“I don’t have a story,” Thomas said. He was trying his hardest to hold onto his advantage, no doubt assuming Bates would own up to seeing Thomas stealing the wine in the first place now, because it was certainly what Thomas would have done in his place. Maybe he should … but it wasn’t who he chose to be. Not anymore.

“You saw Mr. Bates in here, alone, hanging up the cellar key,” Mr. Carson said crisply. “To me, that is a story.”

“I only said I might have seen him. I suppose I was wrong.”

Bates had to hand it to Thomas—he didn’t lack for audacity. He had to be aware that everyone in the room knew he had been lying, but as long as he didn’t admit it, there was little they could do to him.

“Miss O’Brien,” Mr. Carson went on, “were you then wrong when you thought you saw Mr. Bates carrying a bottle?”

Anna turned her head to stare at Miss O’Brien in shock. “You wicked creature!”

Mrs. Hughes rebuked her, “Anna. You are here to watch, not to participate.”

Bates wasn’t sure exactly why Anna was there, since she wasn’t directly involved in the situation. Having her there made things both easier and harder; he appreciated her loyalty, but he found the whole process excruciatingly embarrassing, and wished she didn’t have to witness it.

Miss O’Brien, even more brazen than Thomas, looked directly at Anna, then turned to Mr. Carson. “I don’t think I was wrong, no.”

“So what do you say to that, Mr. Bates?” Mr. Carson was looking directly at him, now, and he was glad to be able to answer this question, at least, honestly and forthrightly.

“I know this to be untrue, because I have no need of it. Since I arrived at Downton, you have never seen me drink one drop of alcohol.” He was proud of that. After prison, he could have gone back to those ways, but they held little temptation for him when compared to creating, and keeping, his good name and his reputation.

Mr. Carson nodded. “Let us say, then, that Miss O’Brien was … mistaken.”

“Mistaken, my eye,” Anna said. No one admonished her for speaking this time.

“And Daisy, we all know the value of your contribution,” Mr. Carson went on.

“Yes, Mr. Carson.”

“But I must ask one thing, Mr. Bates. How did you know the wine had been taken?”

The tension thickened almost noticeably. Surely both Thomas and O’Brien assumed he would tell; undoubtedly Anna hoped he would. But he had promised himself not to be that kind of man. He wanted to be left alone, and would, in turn, leave others alone as much as possible. “I’m afraid I cannot answer that.”

Mr. Carson looked at him for a moment, seeming to be deciding whether to pursue the line of questioning or not. Bates wondered if Mr. Carson had guessed who had taken the wine in the first place; it seemed likely it wasn’t the first bottle Thomas had stolen. Eventually the butler nodded. Would this change Thomas’s determination to see Bates out of the valet’s position? He imagined it wouldn’t. If anything, his refusal to speak would probably make Thomas despise him more. The young footman wouldn’t be able to see the advantage in not speaking, and Thomas understood no type of action that did not give him an advantage. He would view Bates’s silence as weakness.

Having been dismissed, Thomas, Daisy, and O’Brien filed out of the room. Bates wanted to leave, too, to forget the whole unpleasant business and move on with his life—but he couldn’t, not any longer. He knew now how wrong he had been to imagine he could put the past behind him so completely. Now he would have to say, because it would come out eventually, and it would be best if it came from him. Certainly best for the view Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes would take of him … and best for Anna to hear what he had been, what he was, from his own lips. He told himself that, and as Anna was about to follow the others through the door, Bates closed it before he could think better of his decision. “If I might keep you for a minute more, Mr. Carson.”

“If you’d like me to leave,” Mrs. Hughes suggested.

“No. I would like you to stay, please, Mrs. Hughes, and you, Anna.”

Anna nodded, her face tense and pale. He wished he could spare her this, but it was at least part of what he had been keeping secret from her. She had asked him, years ago, for it, and had waited patiently for his answer. She deserved to know, now, if the other two were going to, and he would take the inevitable change in her feelings because he deserved no less.

“You have decided,” Bates began, addressing Mr. Carson, “not to take action over the allegations Thomas has made against me because you believe them to be untrue.”

“That is correct.”

“And you were right; there is no truth in them. But if you were to proceed with the matter, you would find them to be proven.” He had tried to brace himself for this, but one couldn’t truly prepare oneself to lose the respect of those one considered friends. “Thomas has tried to convince you that I am a drunkard, and a thief.”

Anna, bless her heart, broke in to reassure him, not knowing how much harder her simple faith in him made what he had to say. “Which we never believed.”

“Because you know no different.” His voice was hoarse. He was sorry now not to have told her the truth privately, where he could have apologized for not telling her sooner. Perhaps he could do so later, if she was still speaking to him. “Until a couple of years ago, I was a drunkard. And I was imprisoned as a thief.”

Mrs. Hughes drew in a shocked breath; Mr. Carson looked both startled and angry at once, as he deserved to be. Anna just looked sorry. She was too generous to let him see anything else.

“I have repaid your kindness very poorly. I masqueraded as a man of honour and integrity, but by any moral code, I am disgraced.”

Mr. Carson was silent.

Quietly, firmly, Mrs. Hughes said, “That can’t be the whole story.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s enough of it to demand my resignation.” It tore at him to say the words, but what else could he honourably do? He could no longer trespass on their kindness.

Holding up a hand, Mr. Carson asked, “Do you want to leave, Mr. Bates?”

“No. But I feel I have no choice.”

“You owe me a say in the matter, surely,” the butler went on.

“If you wish.”

“Then I will consider the case and give you my decision when I have discussed it with his lordship. Until then, I hope you will remain in your post.”

He glanced at Mrs. Hughes, who met his eyes in distress, and then he looked at Anna, whose gaze fell before his for the first time in their acquaintance. Could he stay here, if Anna wouldn’t even look at him? But the truth was, he had nowhere else to go. He nodded.

“Very well, then.” Mr. Carson cleared his throat. “You may go now.”

He turned and left, not able to look at Anna again, afraid of what he would see in her eyes.


	21. In Everything but Words

_May 1914_

Bates waited for her outside, glad for the night air and the quiet to hide his shame in. He would have given anything he had, and more, not to have had to reveal his past to three of the people whose respect he was most anxious to keep. Occasionally, when contemplating the inevitable arrival of this moment, he had thought it might be a relief to have the secret off his chest. But it wasn’t a relief; it was a terrible burden to have shocked and disappointed them all so much. Mr. Carson, who had trusted him; Mrs. Hughes, who had believed in him; Anna, who had loved him.

Anna, whom he loved.

He could admit that now, when he might have lost her love forever, when he might be turned away from Downton tomorrow with no character. Anna had taken his heart unaware, slipping beneath his defenses before he’d even had a chance to put them up. By the time he had known what was happening, it was too late to prevent it. She was the sun rising in the morning, she was the moon lighting the darkness of the night. What she had seen in him in return, Bates couldn’t imagine; he could only count his blessings to have been so fortunate as to have known her love at all. But he had wanted so much more! For all that he had fought her feelings, and his own, her love had lit a candle within him, had given him hope for the future where before he had thought his life’s solitary course settled. 

It had been all too tempting to let the incident pass without speaking. Thomas and O’Brien had tried to frame him for theft twice—surely they wouldn’t have tried it a third time after the first two had failed. But, he told himself, they would find another way to jeopardize his position. He couldn’t take the chance that they would go digging into his past and expose his secrets. If the truth was to come out, and he was convinced now that eventually it would, he needed to be the one to reveal it. As he’d stood there in Mrs. Hughes’ sitting room, listening to the accusations, and seeing in both Anna’s face and Mrs. Hughes’ the determination not to believe, he had been filled with guilt over the deception he had practiced. These good women who believed in him deserved to know the truth, even if it cost him everything he valued.

Bates didn’t regret having told them.

But the look on Anna’s face, the way she had ducked his gaze, haunted him. He was no longer even certain that she would follow him outside. This morning, he would have known that if something bothered him, she would find him and offer her support. He couldn’t count on that now.

Perhaps, he thought, he should give up and just go in, lay aside the fragile dreams that had just begun to form.

And that was when he saw her coming toward him. His heart leaped within his chest.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Anna had been glad of her work tonight after Mr. Bates’ revelation. It had given her time to think about what he had said.

So this was what he had kept secret all this time. The poor man; she wouldn’t have wanted to admit to that, either.

She wished she could have reassured him earlier, but she hadn’t known what to say. He had been so brave, so upright and honourable, admitting all of that—because they never would have known, otherwise. He wouldn’t have had to say; but he did, anyway, because he could not let them labour under a misimpression. Anna remembered her promise, that nothing he could tell her about himself would change the way she felt … but it did. He had been right. It had to. Knowing what he had gone through, what he had risen above to become the man he was today, made her admire him all the more. She couldn’t even argue with his offer to resign, not really. It was like him to do so, to try to take the burden off Mr. Carson’s shoulders. But … Downton without him? With another man sitting in his chair next to her, day after day? It sounded bleak. Miserable.

Grateful as she had been for her work, by the time Anna was done with it she was burning to talk to him. She had to know if he had considered her at all in his decision to resign, and what hope, if any, she would have if he left.

He was waiting for her in the yard, his expression unreadable.

“Mr. Bates.”

“Anna?” The moment after his urgent whisper of her name was one of the longest of his life. He needed so badly to know what she would say.

“Will you really leave?” It wasn’t everything she had wanted to say, but it was the most important.

Bates tried to make light of it. “I doubt his lordship wants a thief in the house.” He watched her for a long moment while Anna tried to marshal her arguments. He could see now in her face that she hadn’t changed her mind about him, or about her feelings for him, and he wished he deserved such faith. But he didn’t, and he never had. Gently, he said, “Go to sleep, and dream of a better man.” Anna would never know what that sentence had cost him—to admit that he knew of her feelings, to hint that he shared them, and to give them back to her, all at the same time, when all he wanted to do was beg her forgiveness for having lied to her, for not having found a way to prevent her from trusting her heart to someone as unworthy as he.

She shook her head, her throat tightening. Now he spoke out. Now when it might be too late—and only to tell her not to hope. “I can’t … because there isn’t one.”

Unable to stop himself, he reached for her hand, his big fingers closing over her small ones, stroking them. Anna dropped her eyes to their twined hands. It was hard to believe a simple touch of hands could mean so much. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his fingers, wishing she could keep holding on always. Little electric shocks were buzzing along her skin where he touched her, and everything she had wanted to say had been driven completely out of her head.

Anna was so beautiful to him in this moment, her cheeks faintly pink with her reaction to his touch. Bates couldn’t stop looking at her.

She looked up to find his eyes, very dark, on hers. Here, finally, was the man she loved, admitting in everything but words that he returned her feelings, and he was looking at her the way she had dreamed of him doing.

They drew together, fingers tightening around each other, and Anna’s eyes closed as she waited for the feel of his kiss.

Behind her, glass clattered as someone dropped something. Startled, she leaped back, looking up at Mr. Bates. The moment was broken. She took her hand back and hurried away before she could say all the things she wanted to say and have him tell her, again, not to think of him. Because after that moment, to hear him say those things would have broken her heart.

He looked after her, heartsick at the very thought of leaving her. But what could he do? That decision rested with Mr. Carson and Lord Grantham. He tried to tell himself that she would be better off without him, better off with someone who could offer her a life that was out of his reach for good … but it was getting harder and harder to believe.


	22. Try Not to Miss Me

_June 1914_

Anna was on her way to get a quick cup of tea when she passed Mr. Bates in the hallway. Instantly she knew there was something wrong—they always exchanged smiles, at least, if not a brief word. But now he had looked away, unable to meet her eyes. Something new had occurred; hadn’t he just come down from his lordship? Surely he hadn’t been sacked? She wasn’t going to be able to relax over her tea, not now. She caught his sleeve. “Mr. Bates? What is it?”

He looked up and down the hallway. “I’ll tell you later.”

“I don’t think I can wait until later. What’s bothering you? Because I can see something is.”

He sighed, leaning down a little so she could hear him. “His lordship has seen a letter written to Miss O’Brien by a lady’s maid to the wife of my former colonel.”

Anna closed her eyes. Trust O’Brien to cause more trouble. Sometimes Anna wished she was a different kind of person and could get back at O’Brien and Thomas for all their nasty ways. “What did the letter say?”

“It … it explained the circumstances of my arrest and conviction.”

“Tell me.”

He didn’t want to—she could see it in his eyes. But he did anyway. “After a dinner party, the regimental silver was found in my home. When asked, I confessed to having taken it.”

Anna couldn’t stop the exclamation that came to her lips. “Regimental silver? That can’t be right!”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“I’m sorry; I don’t believe it.” How could anyone who knew him believe him capable of such a petty, foolish crime? A crime committed in anger, perhaps, but one of this nature? It wasn’t in his character.

“How can you say that, when I’ve confessed to the crime?”

This wasn’t the time or place for protestations of her faith in him. Anna took another tack. “Well, his lordship obviously doesn’t think that’s all there is to it. And I don’t, either.”

Perhaps there would have been more of an argument, but Mrs. Hughes approached them at that moment. “Anna? Are you set for the 9.00 train tomorrow?”

“All packed and ready.”

“You’ll be met at King’s Cross by Lady Rosamund’s chauffeur, which I think is generous, but after that you’re on your own.”

Anna could barely restrain her smile. She knew exactly what she was going to do with her time in London … but it was best not to mention it or even allow her face to hint at it. Mr. Bates would be the first to tell her to leave it all alone, especially judging from their conversation just now, and Mrs. Hughes might well point out that she should let things lie, or at least let his lordship sort them out. But his lordship, like Mr. Bates, was an honourable man. Anna, bound by ties other than honour to find out the truth, would have a bit more freedom to ask questions … she only hoped that there were good answers out there to be found.

Loud voices came from the kitchen, and Mrs. Hughes sighed. “I must get on. I’m acting referee for Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bird.”

“Best of luck,” Mr. Bates said to her.

The housekeeper shook her head and passed between them on her way to the kitchen, leaving Anna and Mr. Bates alone again. Anna thought of what it would be like, all that time in London far away from him, and she suddenly wanted … what? Reassurance? Maybe that was it. She looked up into his eyes.

“Will you miss me?”

His smile said he would—the one that came spontaneously, the one Anna had only ever seen directed at her, the one that made her knees go weak. He controlled it with an obvious effort, saying, “Try not to miss me. It’ll be good practice.”

He turned and walked away from her before Anna could form an appropriate response. ‘Good practice,’ indeed. She’d show him—she was going to find out what had really happened when he went to jail, and she was going to see to it that he stayed at Downton for a good long time. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at his stubborn departing back, but only just.


	23. Answers

_July 1914_

Anna couldn’t have imagined a better task than being sent to London to accompany Mrs. Patmore, especially once it became clear that her days would be largely empty while she was there other than checking in on the cook’s progress after her eye operation. She knew just what she was going to do with her time, too. Mr. Bates acted as though he wanted them all to believe him guilty of a poorly planned crime, just because he had confessed to it, but it wasn’t like him. To take silver from the barracks and leave it in his house? He was smarter than that; if he wanted to turn thief, he wouldn’t be caught so easily. As to whether the man he had been at that time would have stolen, she couldn’t say. The man she knew now would never steal … but he had changed greatly, apparently. Nonetheless, Lord Grantham didn’t believe the bald facts in that meddlesome witch of an O’Brien’s letter, and Anna didn’t, either. She intended to come home from London with some answers.

As she sat in the train on the way to London, she thought about their conversation in the hallway the previous day. She had made her opinion plain, that she refused to believe the facts. He had persisted in trying to push her away, as if his dismissal was all but certain. Anna wished he wouldn’t give in so easily. And she wished he would stop reminding her that he could be sacked any day. She didn’t think she could bear it if he was, and she didn’t want to consider it until she had to.

Once she had been sent away from the hospital so the cook could be prepared for her procedure, she lost no time. Poor Mrs. Patmore—the woman was used to being on her feet, going constantly, from dawn to dusk, and here she was having to sit there for days on end with nothing to do and no one to scold. It was possible she might burst, Anna thought as she hurried toward a bus.

It took her a couple of days to reach the right place and find someone who could give her the information she sought, and then she only managed by dint of pretending to be Mr. Bates’s cousin, but eventually she found herself ringing the bell at his mother’s house.

Mrs. Bates turned out to be a pleasant, plump woman with snow white hair and a strong resemblance to her son. “May I help you, miss?”

“Mrs. Bates, my name is Anna Smith. I’m head housemaid at Downton Abbey.”

“I see. Is anything amiss there?” She saw fear in the older woman’s eyes, and hastened to reassure her.

“Oh, Mr. Bates is perfectly well, but there’s some … question, you see. About his past.” She leaned forward, not wanting to say it too loudly on the street.

“You’d better come in. Can I get you some tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

As she bustled about getting the tea things, Mrs. Bates drew from Anna the current situation. “You say his lordship hasn’t taken action yet on the story as he’s been told it?”

“No, Mrs. Bates. I think he’s waiting, hoping Mr. Bates will tell him more details.”

“And John hasn’t done so.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. He won’t speak up to save himself.”

“Come in here, dear.” Mrs. Bates went ahead of Anna into a small parlor, setting the tea things down on a lace-covered table and pouring for both of them. “So, what do you want to know?”

“I want to know the truth about the case against him. I want to know why the sergeant thought it was odd. I want to know what Mr. Bates isn’t saying.”

“Because you don’t believe him to be guilty?” The dark eyes, so like her son’s, bored into Anna’s.

“No. I don’t. I know he’s not.”

“Well.” As if Anna had passed some kind of test, Mrs. Bates handed her a teacup. “You’re right, of course.”

“Then who was it? Who was the thief?”

“His wife, Vera.”

Anna closed her eyes briefly. She should have known. Who else would he have protected in such a way? He must have loved his wife very much to do such a thing for her. So why wasn’t he with her now?

Mrs. Bates went on. “She worked at the barracks, sometimes, helping at big dinners and so on. That night her opportunity came and she took it. They knew it was her. Someone even saw her with a big carryall.”

“But why did he confess?” Anna asked. Somehow this image of his wife wasn’t someone she could imagine Mr. Bates loving. At least, not the Mr. Bates she knew.

His mother looked away, drawing in a deep breath. “Well … John wasn’t the same man in those days. The African War had shaken him up and made him angry. He’d been wounded, and he drank a lot more than was good for him.”

Anna didn’t want to ask the next question, but she needed to know. “Was he violent?”

“No! No, not _violent_ ,” his mother said, leaving Anna to wonder how close he must have come to the strictest definition of the word. “He could be hard, at times, with a tongue like a razor.”

Well, that sounded familiar. He still had the tongue, and the sharp intelligence to go with it, although he rarely used either in anger. His anger was as tightly controlled as the rest of him. Anna had to wonder what that control must cost him, and how he had learned it. Prison, she supposed, and war. She was frustrated with him anew—how could he not recognize what strength it took to rise above such things? Her opinion of him, high as it had been to start with, kept rising the more she learned of him.

Mrs. Bates leaned forward earnestly. “He felt he’d ruined Vera’s life, Miss Smith.”

“Do you agree with him?”

“No! No, I thought she was a nasty piece of work. But … that’s why he took the blame.”

Anna shook her head. How could the British justice system let such a travesty occur? “Surely, if everyone knew he was innocent—“

“But he confessed! There was nothing anybody could do, once he confessed.”

Of course not. He would have known that. “Thank you, Mrs. Bates. I appreciate your telling me this.”

“What will you do with what you’ve learned?”

“I’m going to tell his lordship. He’s a good man, and he doesn’t want to believe Mr. Bates is guilty, either. He’ll see the truth. I know he will.”

“You’re very determined, Miss Smith.”

“I am.” She couldn’t let him go away from Downton, not if there was anything she could do to keep him there.

The older woman was looking at her with sharp, but kindly, eyes. “A woman doesn’t come all this way for no reason.”

“No.”

“Do you … care for my son, Miss Smith?”

How could she deny it? “Yes, I do. Very much.”

“And does he care for you?”

“He hasn’t said—“

“He wouldn’t.” His mother nodded. There was a twinkle in her eyes, and she smiled at Anna. “But I’ll tell you this—I knew who Anna Smith was long before you knocked at my door.”

Anna blushed. “He’s written you about me?”

“He has, indeed. Casually, you know, so I don’t get the wrong idea … but I rather think I’ve got the right one.” Those dark eyes regarded Anna seriously, and she could see Mr. Bates’s intelligence in them. “I’ll admit, it’s an ease to my mind to know he’s appreciated and understood … and cared for.”

“Would you like me to write to you, to tell you when his lordship has made a decision?”

“I’d like that very much. Maybe you can fill in all the things John won’t say.” Mrs. Bates stood up, reaching for Anna’s hand and squeezing it. “Thank you for coming, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Bates.”

As she hurried down the sidewalk, ready to get on a bus and go back to visit Mrs. Patmore, Anna was smiling broadly. She hoped the cook’s eyes were recovering well, because she couldn’t wait to go back to Downton.


	24. What She Learnt in London

_July 1914_

Although he’d never have admitted it to her, Bates was burning with curiosity. Anna had come back with a gleam in her eyes that was from more than just a vacation in London, and she wouldn’t look at him, although she didn’t seem angry. Before he could corner her to ask what had happened, however, poor Lady Grantham had her accident, which turned the whole house upside down.

Once her ladyship was resting, and the doctor had left, Bates went upstairs to Lord Grantham’s dressing room to see if there was anything he could do to help relieve the other man’s suffering. Never having come close to being a father, Bates could only imagine what it must feel like to be expecting a child and then to lose it so suddenly and tragically.

“The doctor’s gone, your lordship, but he’s coming back after dinner. Lady Mary’s with her now.”

“Thank you.” The other man didn’t turn around—he was staring out across the fields.

Bates asked, “I don’t suppose you’ll want to change, but is there anything else I can do to be useful?”

His lordship turned, tears in his eyes. “It was a boy.” He broke down, weeping, and Bates wished he was a man who could bend a bit more and weep along with his old friend and employer.

Taking out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes, Lord Grantham muttered, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I just wish you could have been spared this.”

It tugged at the heart to see a man like Lord Grantham reduced to this abject sobbing—but it spoke to how good he truly was, that he could be so open about his feelings.

“No, no, I know you do.” His lordship was clearly trying to get hold of himself. He took a deep breath. “Thank you. By the way, Anna’s told me what she learnt in London.”

No wonder she hadn’t yet spoken to Bates himself, if she’d gone straight to Lord Grantham. “Has she? She’s not told me.”

“Oh. Well, the good news is, you won’t be leaving Downton. And I need some good news today.”

Bates was at a loss for words. The tremendous compliment implied by his lordship’s remark was gratifying, but he couldn’t imagine that he deserved such loyalty. At the same time, he couldn’t deny that he was angry with Anna for her presumptuousness. He hadn’t needed her to go prying into his past; he hadn’t needed her to fix his affairs at Downton. He meant to stand on his own two feet, by God.

By the time he reached the servants’ hall, he had worked himself up and was as angry as he dared get. All the servants, other than O’Brien, who was still with her ladyship, were huddled around the table. Anna’s head lifted as soon as Bates walked in, and when their eyes met, he jerked his head toward the door, not wanting to call attention to them if he could avoid it.

She met him outside in just a few moments. “What is it? Have you spoken to his lordship?”

“Yes, I have, and he told me that you and he had already consulted about my future.”

The smile on her face faded in the face of his anger. She hadn’t expected this reaction, and for a moment he was worried—would it frighten her, that he was angry? Would she retreat from him? But he should have known better.

Anna folded her arms, her lips tightening in that stubborn way of hers. “That’s not the way it was. But if you thought I was going to sit here and watch you let yourself be pushed right out of Downton by those two schemers, you had another think coming.”

“So you were busy in London, then.”

“Yes, I was. I went to see your mother.”

“You did what?”

“She’s a lovely woman. Very forthcoming.” Anna’s eyes were flashing. “A trait I wish she’d passed on.”

“If she is more free with her words, it’s because she has less to lose by them.”

“And less to gain, too.”

“What did she tell you?”

“That your wife was the thief, and that you confessed to the crime out of guilt because … because it wasn’t a very happy marriage.”

Well, that was an understatement. “True enough, as far as it goes.” His anger was fading in the face of her tremendous courage. He couldn’t remember a single other person in his life who would have done for him what she had. “But Anna, you should have spoken to me before you did that.”

“And have you tell me not to? Have you remind me again how foolish I am? I don’t think so.” Her little chin went up, and God, but he did admire her strength. She had faced up to his anger without flinching, and she had uncovered a truth he’d thought long buried. “You may think whether you stay at Downton Abbey or not only affects you, Mr. Bates, but you’re entirely wrong on that score. And I’m not the only one who will be relieved to see this situation safely in the past.” She put her hand on his arm. “You have friends, whatever you may think of us. And we don’t give up without a fight.”

Turning on her heel, she marched back into the house, her back very straight, and he watched her with admiration. What a remarkable woman.


	25. Very Keen Indeed

_August 1914_

It was a beautiful day for the garden party, warm and sunny. Bates was rather at loose ends—he couldn’t carry trays or serve, but he felt uncomfortable just staying in the house, as well. Of course, his comparative leisure meant he could watch Anna as she moved back and forth among the guests. She caught him at it, too, as she came back to the tent with a tray full of empty dishes.

“I didn’t know a garden party was a spectator sport.”

“Pretty, though, isn’t it? Hard to believe the clouds are gathering, on a summer’s day like this.”

He meant the war, but Anna appeared to take it differently. She came a bit closer. “Mr. Bates. I know you think I was wrong to call on your mother.”

Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t think that.” His initial anger—born of embarrassment and hurt pride more than anything else—had cooled. The effusive letter from his mother that had followed Anna’s visit had been filled with all the things he had always wanted to say to his mother about Anna and never felt he could. His mother’s reaction to her had made him admire and respect Anna more than he had before, if such a thing was possible. “She likes you, by the way.” What an understatement that was.

Anna smiled a little. “I had to find out the truth.”

“But you see, you don’t know the whole truth, not even now.” How could she? She hadn’t been there for the shouting, and the fights, and the breaking things, and the words they hurled at each other. She hadn’t been there to see him falling into a bottle every night. He had owed Vera every day of those two years in prison and more, for the kind of husband he had turned out to be. “You know my mother’s truth.”

Anna caught on quickly. “But not your wife’s.” When he couldn’t answer, she asked him, “Where is she now?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” Truthfully, he hadn’t tried to find out, either. Life was better when Vera wasn’t around.

It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted, that was plain to see. “I’d better get back.” She walked off, her back straight and proud. He knew her well enough to know that the next time he saw her she would be her usual self—she wasn’t one to let things get her down for long.

He was watching her, admiring her, when Mr. Moseley came up to him. Bates had slouched a bit in his conversation with Anna, to put his face a bit closer to hers and reduce the chance of their being overheard. Now he straightened. “You’re here, Mr. Molesley? I didn’t know that.”

“Just helping out.” Mr. Molesley’s gaze followed Bates’s. “Nice girl, that Anna. Do you know if she’s got anyone special in her life?”

Bates could have lied, but if Mr. Molesley ever asked Anna herself he’d get the truth. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself. “I’d like to say she hasn’t. I would, truly, but I’m afraid there is someone, yes.”

“Do you think he’s keen on her, or is it worth a go?”

Here was his chance if he’d ever had one, to push a good man on Anna, someone who could care for her the way she deserved to be, with openness and a future and promises. “Well … He keeps himself to himself. He’s very hard to read at times, but …” He found that he couldn’t lie. His feelings for her wouldn’t be denied. “I’d say he’s keen. I’d say he’s very keen indeed.”


	26. An Option

_August 1914_

The Sunday after the garden party, Anna walked back from church with Mr. Bates. They were unusually silent. Anna couldn’t get his words out of her head. He didn’t know where his wife was, which meant he couldn’t get a divorce. Not that Anna had expected him to, not exactly, but she had hoped there was a chance. She wanted to get past it, shrug it off with her usual cheerfulness. Somehow she couldn’t seem to, though, not even to enjoy this walk, which was usually her favorite time of the week. Occasionally as they walked home from church, if they lagged far enough behind the others not to be seen, she would tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow. Most often when she did that, he’d shift his arm so her hand slipped out again, but every once in a while he would leave it there, tightening his arm against his body to hold her hand closer, and he’d get that little half-smile that told Anna he thought she was right where she belonged.

She tried to think of that half-smile now, but his face was as somber as she felt. Ducking her head, Anna cast about for something, anything to say, but Mr. Bates beat her to it.

“Do you know much about Mr. Moseley?”

“Not really. He seems nice enough. Why do you ask?”

He glanced at her sideways. “At the garden party, he was asking about you.”

“Asking what about me, exactly?”

“He asked me if you had anyone special in your life.”

She stopped short. “He didn’t.”

“Yes, he did.”

“What did you tell him?” Knowing Mr. Bates, it could be anything on the spectrum. She rather expected he would have told Mr. Moseley she didn’t, just to give her an option other than himself.

But his eyes were warm on hers. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Am I right?”

“No. I told him that while I’d like to say there isn’t someone, there is.”

Anna’s heart fluttered. “Did you tell him who it was?”

“No.”

“So why are you bringing it up now?”

He was stooping slightly to look into her eyes, that earnest look on his face. “Because I thought you ought to know. That you—could do better.”

“Do you really think Mr. Moseley is a better man than you are?”

“He’d have to be.”

“He couldn’t possibly be.” Anna shook her head. “When will you stop selling yourself short?”

“Anna, you deserve someone who could give you all the things I never can.”

“I think that’s for me to decide, don’t you?” she snapped.

Mr. Bates gave a great sigh. “I suppose.”

They started walking again. “So what did he say, when you told him?”

“He asked me if the fellow was keen on you, or if it was worth trying to cut him out.”

“And?”

There was that half-smile, the warmth in his eyes. “What do you think?”

Suddenly the weight seemed to lift from Anna’s shoulders, and she could breathe again. Now she did tuck her hand in the crook of his arm—right where it belonged.


	27. To Go to War

_November 1914_

The house was somber tonight. Upstairs they were tense and unhappy because Mr. Matthew Crawley had left to join the army. Downstairs they were going to miss him, as well. Mr. Matthew always had a kind word and a smile for the servants.

They were a quiet lot down here now. Thomas had gone early on, and Mr. Carson hadn’t seen any point in hiring on another footman. William’s workload was a lot heavier, and that seemed to satisfy him for now, but Anna knew they were all dreading the day he would decide to go to war. His father had asked him not to go, and she hoped William would listen.

Anna was darning socks in her usual seat, between Mr. Bates, who was reading—poetry again, the work of an Irish poet, W. B. Yeats—and Tess, the new maid, who was slowly and labouriously writing a letter. O’Brien sat on the other side of the table sewing a ripped sleeve.

Tess threw down her pen, sighing. “I can’t seem to know what to say.” She crumpled up the paper, then smoothed it back out again, rereading her words with a little frown. “Mr. Bates?”

“Hm?” His eyes were still on the book, lost in the poem. Anna hoped later he would read some aloud; he often did, if O’Brien went to bed.

“What is it like to go to war?”

The room stilled. If anyone else had asked, Anna didn’t think Mr. Bates would have answered, but Tess’s young man was in France. Slowly, he marked his place and closed the book. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Tess swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“There’s no easy answer; it’s different to every man. And I imagine every war has its own peculiarities.” Under the table, his bad leg shifted restlessly.

O’Brien looked up at him, but she kept quiet. She had been much less abrasive since Thomas left, which was a relief.

“Then … tell me something. Anything. I don’t know what to write to him about because I can’t seem to see him there.”

Mr. Bates nodded. “There’s a lot of dirt. You can’t bathe often, you can’t shave properly, you wear the same clothes for days at a time, at least, when you’re in battle. In a resting camp, there’s more time for those things.” His eyes were faraway, seeing Africa, Anna imagined. She wondered what Africa looked like. “Where I was, there were mosquitoes, and the heat was almost unbearable. France won’t be like that, though. I imagine it will be cold, instead. And when it rains, there’s nowhere to go. Just tents, and everything in them gets wet, and then it mildews.” He looked at Tess. “Does that help?”

“A little. Thank you, Mr. Bates.” There were tears in the maid’s eyes, but she blinked them away, taking up her pen and going back to her letter with a renewed determination.

A wave of emotion rushed over Anna, and she hastily tucked the darning away, needing to escape the confines of the suddenly narrow room. “Good-night, everyone.”

Mr. Bates looked at her in surprise as she hurried past him. Instead of going upstairs, she went outside to look up at the stars and clear her head. As she might have expected, he joined her a few minutes later. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Just being silly.”

“About what?”

“Because … Because I’m so glad you can’t go to war.” The words rushed out of her. “And I feel terrible for being so relieved when all these women are staying behind, not knowing where their men are or what they’re doing, and here I am being so selfish.”

There was no response for a long time, and she turned around to look at him. His face was turned up to the stars, his eyes miles away.

“Aren’t you relieved, not to have to go to war again?”

Mr. Bates gave a brief, bitter chuckle. “No man likes to think he’s of no use to his country in times like these, Anna. Just ask Lord Grantham.” He looked down at her, and she suddenly felt the difference in their ages, which usually seemed so unimportant.

“So you would want to go, if you could?”

“I wouldn’t want to, exactly, but I would feel better to be able to do something. Even Thomas has gone to be useful.” He sighed.

Anna bit her lip. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“I can’t imagine why you would have.” His voice was forgiving, but she hated to think she had caused him pain. “Anna, there are horrors to be seen in war you can’t begin to picture unless you’ve been there. I am a little relieved, yes, not to have to watch more young men die. I saw enough of that in Africa. And I know enough to know that one more gun in the hands of an old soldier wouldn’t make a difference in the course of the war … but it certainly does remind a man of his limitations.”

He left her there, then, limping back into the house. Anna stayed outside, looking up at the stars, sad that she had made him unhappy, sorry that Tess and so many women like her had to say good-bye to the men they loved, and, God help her, still glad that Mr. Bates couldn’t go.


	28. Dancing

_December 1914_

The servants’ ball this year was a pale shadow of what it usually was. With so many young men already gone, it was left to William, Mr. Carson, Mr. Branson, and Mr. Molesley to dance with all the ladies. Bates was, of course, sidelined by his bad leg. He stood to the side and watched the festivities, chatting with whoever came by to say hello. It was rarely Anna; she was a good dancer and really seemed to like it, so the men kept her on the floor.

Bates didn’t mind; he liked watching her enjoy herself, and he told himself it didn’t bother him that he didn’t have the chance to hold her in his arms and whirl her around the room. He hadn’t been a particularly graceful dancer even when he’d had two good legs. He preferred the excuse to the prospect of disappointing her by not being very good at it.

Mr. Carson clearly enjoyed the exertion and the attention, as well as the chance to unbend a little. The butler had a deep affection for most of the people who worked for him, but more often than not was constrained not to show it. This was a rare occasion when he could smile on his subordinates like an equal, if only for a short time.  
William had eyes only for Daisy. He liked dancing, and for that reason was happy to dance with Anna a few times, but half the time the lad’s head was turned looking for the little maid. Daisy didn’t give two pins for William—that much was obvious enough to everyone but the boy. Bates had tried to talk to him about the situation, but William, for all his youth and innocence, was a proud and stubborn man. He would have to make his own mistakes, and would no doubt be the better for them.

Branson, now. Bates rather liked Branson—the chauffeur had a fire to do something with his life, to make the world different for his having been in it. While Bates imagined that fire would be tempered by time, he liked to see it in a man of Branson’s age. He wondered what Branson and Anna were talking about. She laughed with the chauffeur so naturally; Bates would have felt a pang of jealousy if he didn’t know that poor Branson was as head over heels in love with Lady Sybil as William was with Daisy … and with just as little chance for happiness. As long as the Countess lived, Bates couldn’t imagine Lady Sybil actually escaping her family to be with an Irish chauffeur. And that was if she wanted to. Lady Sybil was young yet; she had a lot of growing up to do before she knew what she wanted.

He considered that point. Because Anna was young, too, and while he thought she was throwing her life away by caring for him, he had never thought her too young to know what she wanted. But then, there was a vast difference between a sheltered young noblewoman and a girl who had had to make her own way through the servants’ halls, working hard to earn her own wages. And Anna was extraordinarily self-possessed, even for a working woman. Once she had set her eyes on him, Bates had seen little indication that she had ever wavered. Occasionally, he thought with a small, secret smile, he felt a bit like a fox running from a hound. A happier fox than the poor animals usually were, granted. He couldn’t deny that it was flattering to be pursued by such a woman, even if he had no earthly idea what she saw in him when she could have so much more than a broken-down old soldier who would never be free to marry her.

She was dancing with Molesley again, listening attentively to whatever he was saying. Remembering their conversation at the garden party, Bates had to remind himself that Anna had no interest in Molesley; part of Bates felt sad about that. It would have made him feel as though he had done something for her to have been able to point her to another man, to say “there, now, go and be happy” and mean it. But Molesley … Molesley wasn’t for Anna, either. And it would have torn his heart out to have to push her toward anyone else; the very thought of having to see her in love with someone other than himself made it hard to breathe.

Anna caught his eye over Molesley’s shoulder and gave him a wink. Bates couldn’t help but stand a little straighter at the thought that she sought him out even though she was dancing with another man who thought the sun rose and set in her. Poor Molesley, he probably didn’t deserve to be attracted to a woman who had already given her heart away.

Anna was begging off the next dance. It looked as though she was pleading sore feet, but she moved lightly enough as she came toward him.

“You look like you were having fun.”

“I was. I love to dance, and there’s never enough reason to.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the dance floor. “Can’t be much fun for you, though.”

“Just being in the same room with you is better than anywhere I’d been in a long time before I came to Downton.”

Her eyes shone as she looked up at him. “I could say the same about you.”

It wasn’t as good as being able to take her in his arms and dance with her … but it came close.


	29. Mr. Molesley

_February 1915_

The servants’ hall was quiet today—several of the maids were down with a cold that had been making the rounds of the village, and William had been out of commission with it for a couple of days already. Mr. Carson was being run ragged by the difficulties of running a house with no footmen. Mr. Bates was only a little help, given his knee. 

Anna was darning one of Lady Edith’s stockings when Mr. Molesley looked in.

“Ah, hello, Anna.”

“Hello, Mr. Molesley.” She smiled at him, remembering what Mr. Bates had said. She couldn’t help thinking of it when she saw Mr. Molesley, wondering if he was still interested in her and hoping he wasn’t. He seemed a nice enough fellow, but he wasn’t for her. There was only one man for her; whatever else Anna’s future might hold, that she knew for certain. “Come to help with the dinner?”

“Yes. Mrs. Patmore stopped by to see Mrs. Bird and said Mr. Carson was at his wits’ end, so I came to see what I could do.”

“I know he’ll appreciate that. It’s very kind of you.”

Mr. Molesley smiled, ducking his head a bit in the shy way he had.

“Funny to think of Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bird being such great friends now,” Anna went on, wanting to spare him further embarrassment. “I wouldn’t have imagined that last summer.”

“Nor would I.” He hesitated, turning his hat nervously around in his hands, then said, “Hard to tell who’s the generalissimo now, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I’d still give Mrs. Patmore the nod,” Anna said. “More practice.”

“You may have something there.” He chuckled, and Anna smiled with him.

Mr. Bates came into the room then, stopping short when he saw them there smiling at each other. Anna felt surprisingly uncomfortable with the situation; she couldn’t help thinking about what Mr. Molesley had said to Mr. Bates, and what Mr. Bates had—and hadn’t—said to Mr. Molesley in return. She could tell Mr. Bates was thinking about it, too.

“Good evening, Anna,” he said, almost pointedly.

“Good evening, Mr. Bates. Mr. Molesley has come up to help with the dinner.”

There was a moment’s silence before Mr. Bates collected himself and turned to the other man. “Oh, have you, Mr. Molesley? That’s very nice.”

“Yes, well …” Mr. Molesley looked between Mr. Bates and Anna, frowning a little. Then he cleared his throat. “I’d best go find Mr. Carson.” With nods for both of them, he turned and left the room.

Anna waited, wondering what Mr. Bates would say to her. He turned away, but not before she could see the flush that spread up his cheeks and out to the tips of his ears. As he limped down the hall, Anna turned back to her darning, glad no one could see the smile that spread irrepressibly over her face. Perhaps it wasn’t ladylike to be pleased at Mr. Bates’s obvious jealousy … but as she’d said many a time before, she wasn’t a lady and didn’t pretend to be one.


	30. I Wish, Too

_March 1915_

Bates was carefully cleaning and brushing a hat over a clean piece of newspaper when Anna came hurrying in, taking her seat next to him.

“I only have a few minutes, but this letter has been burning a hole in my pocket all morning,” she said, taking out a small envelope and slitting it open with a hairpin.

From the handwriting, it looked to be from her mother, and Bates smiled a little bit, wondering what that feisty woman had to say today. Anna’s mum had strong opinions on a lot of topics, and was never shy about sharing them with her daughter. If she knew anything about Anna’s feelings for him, Bates had never been told about it. He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew.

He leaned over slightly, asking, “What does she say?”

Anna was staring at the paper, her fingers trembling slightly. She glanced at him, briefly, and shoved the letter in her apron pocket without refolding it. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Oh, look at the time!” And she was off without a backward glance.

Bates was left with a chill down his spine. Her eyes, usually so open, had been hooded and closed off for the split second she had looked at him.

“Got your nose slapped, did you?” O’Brien remarked. She kept her eyes on her knitting and her face composed; smirking had been Thomas’s signature.

Before he could tell her to shut up, or worse, Bates hastily gathered up the hat and other supplies. It didn’t do to antagonize O’Brien, no matter how much she deserved it. She always made you pay, sooner or later. And what did he care what she thought? It was Anna’s strange distance that concerned him.

It continued to concern him all day; she looked down at the floor anytime he passed her, spent her time at dinner talking to Tess, the second housemaid, and wasn’t at the table later that evening when they all gathered around to relax before bed.

She must be outside. It was really still too cold for it, but it was the only place left to look. The loss of her smiles and her friendship just for one day had been devastating; Bates couldn’t let it continue overnight or he’d go mad. He limped out to their usual spot, finding her there huddled on a packing crate, staring off into space.

“You shouldn’t be out here. You’ll freeze.” She didn’t appear to have heard him, and he moved closer. “Anna?”

Now she looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time all day. “Why can’t you find your wife?”

“What?” he whispered, taking a step backward. He hadn’t expected that, not at all.

“Why can’t you find her?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. “It’s like you don’t even want to get a divorce.”

“It’s a complicated situation, Anna.”

“Then explain it to me, Mr. Bates.” She was on her feet now. “I need to know.”

To tell her that, he’d have to explain about Vera. To explain about Vera, he’d have to explain about himself in far more detail than he had before. He didn’t want to have to see the look on Anna’s face when he told her what kind of marriage he’d had before, or see her wondering if that’s what he would eventually be like with her, if by some miracle he was ever free to marry her. Instead he asked, “What’s brought this on?”

She held up a crumpled piece of paper in one work- and cold-reddened hand. It was the letter from her mother. “My cousin is getting married. My much younger cousin. Meanwhile I’ve been waiting for three years and you won’t even say—“ She broke off, taking a deep breath to calm herself and blinking the shine of tears out of her eyes, and turned away from him. “I’m sorry. You’ve never promised me anything … and I got my hopes up … and then this letter.” Anna shook her head. “I’m sorry; I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Anna.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to look at him. “If I thought finding her would do any good, I would have done so already. She is the kind of woman who would hold on tighter if she knew I wanted … someone else. I really am not free—and I’m not going to be.”

Her face was crumpling the way the paper had earlier, and she nodded, biting her lip. “I know; your mother’s said something like that, as well, in her letters. I just—wish—“

She was trembling, from cold and emotion, and Bates couldn’t help it. He pulled her against him, putting his arms around her. “I know.” He shouldn’t encourage her, he told himself. He really shouldn’t. But— “I wish, too.”


	31. Spring

_April 1915_

It seemed as though spring would never come. The weather continued cold and grey and rainy—even more so than usual—and none of the spring growth seemed even to have begun yet. Anna walked back from her half-day in Ripon briskly. There was really nothing to look at. There was nothing much to hurry toward, either. Life at Downton continued to be about as lively as the weather. The young ladies worried about Mr. Matthew, particularly Lady Mary, although you would have to have known her as long and as well as Anna had to see it. They were restless, with little to do and few people to see. The war had curtailed so many of their usual activities.

Belowstairs they picked up on the anxieties and unhappiness of the Crawleys, and had had an additional blow recently when a letter arrived for Tess from her young man’s parents, letting her know he had been shot in France and died in a field hospital. Tess had given notice immediately, to go home and give some comfort to his family. Her replacement would be arriving in a couple of days. Mrs. Hughes seemed pleased with the new girl’s references; Anna hoped she would be a hard worker, at least.

Her steps were slowing as she approached Downton’s grounds. She didn’t want to go in there, to the sadness and gloom that seemed to infect them all. But she didn’t want to stay out here, either, in the chill, with raindrops falling from the leaves above her head as the wind rustled them.

Then she saw a familiar figure stooping down by the edge of the path. He seemed to be reaching for something he had dropped, and Anna hurried up to go help him. “Mr. Bates!”

He hadn’t seen her coming, clearly, and he startled when she called to him, nearly overbalancing, but he caught himself. When he stood up, there was something clutched in his gloved hand. Anna couldn’t tell what it was.

“I was going to help you with that.”

“I managed just fine.” They stood there for a moment.

“It’s not your half-day, is it?”

“No, His Lordship wanted me to pick something up for him in the village. Actually, he suggested William should go, but William was busy enough that I said I’d go instead. And here we are.” He smiled.

“I was just coming back—I left some … things soaking.” Anna blushed, and Mr. Bates chuckled. It was clear that he understood what type of things she’d been washing out. “That’s silly, isn’t it?”

“Possibly.” There was a warmth in his eyes that lit something deep inside Anna. Was he thinking about her in her underthings? He looked as though that’s what he was thinking of. He cleared his throat, changing the subject. “You look cold.”

“I am. I thought it would be warmer out, so I wore a lighter coat. Doesn’t it seem as though spring is never coming this year?”

He shook his head. “No. Not to me. I have spring all year ‘round.” Anna must have looked as puzzled as she felt, because he went on, leaning closer to her. “To me, you are spring. It’s bright, and warm, and cheerful, and occasionally it’s threatened by chills and rain, but it always manages to hold out to become summer.” He held out his hand so that she could see what was in it—a small but perfectly formed red tulip. “This is for you. I saw it along the path, and thought of you.”

“Mr. Bates.” Anna took the tulip, touched by the words and the gesture. She took a step closer and looked up into his eyes. “I love you.”

She thought he would respond as he usually did on the rare occasions she said those words, with a sigh, or a shake of the head. But this time, he nodded. “I love you, too, Anna. I can’t deny it any longer.” And slowly, very slowly, Anna stretched up to him and he leaned down to her and their lips met, soft and sweet. It was only a brief touch, but to Anna, it was as if spring had burst full-blown from winter.


	32. About Anna

_May 1915_

Bates took the change from the storekeeper, tucking his parcel under his arm, and turned to leave the store, but stopped short when he found Mr. Molesley standing before him. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bates.” Molesley was turning his hat around and around in his hands in the way he had. “Going back to Downton?”

“Yes.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

“Not at all.”

They left the store together, walking slowly along, Molesley matching his steps to Bates’s pace. It had been a long time since they’d spent any real amount of time together—not since before the African war, when they’d been footmen together. Molesley had been the one with the bright future then. Bates had been more impulsive, more prone to let his temper get the best of him, always fighting against the constraints of his place in service. He’d leapt at the chance to go to war … and come home not changed enough. Bates pulled his mind sharply away from memories of his time with Vera. She was his past now, or as much so as she was ever likely to be.

Molesley cleared his throat. “Mr. Bates?”

“Is there something on your mind, Mr. Molesley?”

“A while back, I asked you about … about Anna.”

Bates could feel something inside him go still. Anna had no special feelings for this man next to him; he himself wasn’t free to be with Anna, anyway—so why was it that any hint of Molesley’s continued interest in her made him feel so threatened? Perhaps because Molesley could offer her all the things he couldn’t, or because deep down he knew Molesley deserved a woman like Anna and he himself deserved … nothing.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely in response to Molesley’s comment.

“You told me there was someone. Is—is it you?”

So it had come to this, had it? Bates was sure there was speculation about himself and Anna in the servants’ hall, but no one had yet come to him and asked the blunt question. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops—but he and Anna had never spoken about what they should say if asked, and always in the back of his mind was the question of what people would think of her if they knew she begun an involvement, no matter how sweetly or beautifully or innocently, with a married man. “What makes you think so?” he asked.

Molesley stopped his fidgeting and lifted his head with a sudden dignity, looking directly at Bates. “Don’t be coy, Mr. Bates. It’s beneath you.”

“You’re right. I apologize—it was Anna I was thinking of. I don’t know if she’d want me to say…”

“I’ve seen her looking at you. I don’t think Anna would mind if you said the sky was brown.”

Bates felt a warmth filling his chest at the idea that her regard for him was so obvious. He shouldn’t be pleased, he told himself, but he was, for all that. “So if you know, why are you asking?”

“Because I know about your circumstances. Your … your wife. Does Anna?” Molesley swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but determined to have it all the same.

“She does. I told her long ago. This—this wasn’t my idea. But she— I—“ He didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Molesley nodded. “I just wanted to say—I hope it works out for both of you.”

“Thank you.”

“And that Anna is a very special person. I would not want to see her hurt.”

“Nor would I.”

They stood looking at one another for a long moment. Then Molesley bobbed a nervous nod and turned, walking straight-shouldered back to the village, leaving Bates watching after him.


	33. Mrs. Hughes

_June 1915_

After dinner, Anna knocked on the door of Mrs. Hughes’ sitting room, as she had been directed to by the housekeeper earlier in the day.

“Come in, Anna.”

“You wanted to see me, Mrs. Hughes?”

“Yes. Would you like some tea?” The housekeeper didn’t wait for Anna’s assent before she began pouring. She pointed Anna to a chair.

Accepting the teacup, Anna took her seat, wondering what she had been called in here for. She didn’t think she’d done anything wrong, and she couldn’t imagine there was any reason for a promotion. Even if O’Brien left for some reason, Lady Grantham wouldn’t be likely to choose Anna as a replacement.

“Now.” Mrs. Hughes took the other seat. She set her own teacup on the table between them. “I wanted to talk to you about the situation between you and Mr. Bates.”

Anna nearly dropped the cup, and hastily put it on the table to avoid spilling. The last thing she needed was a tea stain on her apron. “The situation?” she echoed weakly.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. “You’re a good girl, Anna, so if you tell me there’s nothing improper going on that I need to worry about, I’ll believe you.”

“There isn’t. Mr. Bates and I—we’re both very happy here at Downton. We wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

“Good. That’s the end of it then.” Anna began to relax and was about to ask if she could be dismissed when the housekeeper added, “Officially.”

“Officially?”

“Well, you know, romance does happen between servants, and since you and Mr. Bates are honourable people, in my capacity as housekeeper I have some leeway to overlook such things, as long as you make sure you are not caught in a … compromising position.”

Anna hastily assured her, “Oh, we wouldn’t be.” If only the housekeeper knew how little chance there was of that. Not that Anna was complaining, exactly, but …

“Unofficially,” Mrs. Hughes continued, before Anna could follow that line of thought any further, “I wanted to talk to you, Anna.”

“To me?”

“Yes. To make sure that you understand what you are getting yourself into. You know as well as I do that Mr. Bates is married.”

Anna nodded.

“And my impression is that there is every likelihood he will stay that way.”

“Yes.”

“You know all that and yet you have entered into a relationship with him. It concerns me, Anna. It concerns me very much.”

“What about it concerns you?” Anna took a deep, fortifying swallow of her tea. She had always respected Mrs. Hughes; before Mr. Bates had come into the picture, she had considered that she might one day follow in Mrs. Hughes’ footsteps and become a housekeeper.

“I hate to see you throw your future away on a man who has none.”

Anna sighed. She tried to find words to explain her position. It was difficult, because no one had ever asked her to before. “I don’t see that my future is any different than it was before, not really. I do my work here the same as I always did, and I hope to please you and Mr. Carson, and the family, by doing it well, and retain my position and possibly advance someday. Just … now while I do it, it’s in the company of someone I … care for.” She wasn’t used to talking about this. When Gwen, whom she had been close to, had lived here it was mostly all too new, and she hadn’t grown close enough to the other maids to talk with them about private things. Besides which, none of them were as interesting as Mr. Bates. She’d rather spend time talking with him than spend time with someone else talking about him. She hadn’t even written her mother, because then there would be questions and criticisms and demands, and it was easier to go without all those.

“Just when did all of this start, Anna?” Mrs. Hughes was watching her with an unusual softness in her eyes.

“I don’t even know, not really. I knew from the start that I liked him, and we enjoyed spending time with each other, and he understands me, do you know what I mean?”

“I suppose I do.”

“And the more I saw of him, the better I liked him. I can’t really say when it wasn’t ‘liking’ anymore, but … loving.”

Mrs. Hughes watched her for a moment, her face softening at Anna’s last word, then reached for her teacup and took a sip of her tea. “I see. And how long are you willing to wait for him?”

“It isn’t that way, Mrs. Hughes. I’m not—I’m not waiting for anything. He’s never promised me that he’d be free to marry me. In fact, he’s always said I should think of someone else instead, that he wasn’t free and wasn’t going to be, but I couldn’t. There isn’t anyone else I want to think of; there never has been.” The words tumbled out of Anna in a rush. She didn’t want the housekeeper to see her as the type of woman who tried to break up someone else’s marriage.

There was kindness in Mrs. Hughes’ eyes. “So you are happy enough with the present that it doesn’t bother you not to have a future?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, Anna, you certainly seem to think you know what you’re about, and as I said before, we trust you. If anything changes, I hope you will feel free to come to me about it.”

“Of course. Thank you very much, Mrs. Hughes.”

As the talk turned to other things, Anna couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of relief. She had wondered if Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson knew, and had worried a bit that she and Mr. Bates might be risking the censure of the housekeeper and the butler. It was nice to know that they hadn’t done so, and that they were trusted not to disrupt the house with their relationship. She pretended not to see the concern on the housekeeper’s face while they finished their tea.


	34. Passion

_July 1915_

Some nights, it was difficult to keep his eyes on his work and his attention off the woman who sat next to him. Bates could feel the warmth from her body all along his side; if he shifted his leg just so, it would brush her skirt. As she bent over her sewing, he could see the curve of her neck, the soft skin there, and the shell of her ear. And while he tried to keep himself from imagining things that could never be, he was still a man, and he knew what it was to love a woman with his body, even as Anna was teaching him what it was to love one with his heart.

Resolutely he turned back to the collar he was scrubbing. The plain domesticity of the work should have turned his thoughts away from thoughts of Anna and memories of that brief kiss in the springtime … but it didn’t. He still remembered how her eyes had closed, how her lips had parted in a little gasp when the kiss was over, how her eyes had darkened to deep blue. God help him, he wanted to kiss her again, to thread his fingers in her hair and tilt her head back and kiss her until she couldn’t stand up straight. To lay her back on the nearest flat surface and—Vera’s face flashed in his mind, her dark wicked eyes half-closed, her strong white teeth clenched on her lower lip, her husky voice calling his name, and he nearly threw the collar across the room. How could he think of her at a time like this? They had shared passion, yes, that much was undeniable, but it had been passion born of anger and strife. It wouldn’t be that way with Anna—he wouldn’t let it. If he ever had the chance to … touch Anna, he would do it gently, showing her his love with every stroke of his fingers, every touch of his tongue to her skin.

His eyes turned to her again, admiring the shining gold of her hair. He imagined it loose, flowing down her back; sliding across his chest as she moved— Abruptly he pushed his chair back. Anna looked up at him, startled, and he made an effort to smile in reassurance before hastily leaving the room.

Outside, he gazed upward into the cloudy sky, wondering again how he had been led into such a hopeless romance. He had never intended to fall in love; his circumstances should have precluded such a thing. But there she had been with her smiles and her understanding eyes. He had been drawn to her from the first, recognizing something in her that called to him. Once he had realized that the same something belonged with him—to him—it had been too late. And while most days he could look at her and see his friend, the keeper of his heart, days like today all he could see was the most beautiful, desirable woman he had ever met—and the one farthest from his touch.

After a few minutes Bates composed himself, returning to the house. He avoided Anna for the rest of the day, but he still couldn’t get the image of her golden hair spread all over him out of his mind.


	35. Their Mothers

_October 1915_

The arrival of the mail was always an event. The servants looked forward to news from their families, or the chance to hear from old friends, or a newspaper from their homes, in the case of those who had grown up far from Downton. Today the bundle held a letter for Anna from her mother, and a letter for Mr. Bates from his. Both women were feisty and strongly opinionated, and by mutual accord Anna and Bates saved their letters for tea time, when they could steal a few minutes alone in the courtyard while enjoying the autumn sunshine. Winter would close them in before they knew it.

Anna was already outside when Mr. Bates managed to escape the house. He sank onto his crate with a sigh, stretching out his leg. Anna glanced at him in concern. “Is it getting worse?”

“No. It isn’t getting better, either.”

When he was short with her that way, she knew to leave it alone. He bore the pain as well as any man could—better than most, certainly—but he wasn’t immune to it. Anna let him be while he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. After a few moments, his eyes opened again and sought Anna’s. “I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t be. It was a silly question.”

Mr. Bates shrugged. “It could get better one day. It didn’t always bother me the way it does now—just as the shrapnel shifted to make it worse, it could shift again someday to make it better.”

“Do you think it will?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you thought to consult Dr. Clarkson about it?”

He shook his head. “No. The regimental surgeon looked at it long ago and told me there’s no chance of getting the shrapnel out without destroying the knee entirely. Can you imagine me more lame than I am?” he asked bitterly.

Quietly, Anna ventured, “It wouldn’t matter to me, you know that.”

Mr. Bates looked at her, their eyes meeting and holding for a few minutes. Anna tried to put everything she felt for him into hers, and his softened under the onslaught of her emotions. “You’re sweet to say so.”

A tart response hovered on her lips, but there was no point in it. She hadn’t been able to convince him of the enduring strength of her love for him yet; there was little chance another comment would do so. Instead, she took her letter from the envelope. “Shall I start?”

“Please.” Mr. Bates smiled at the prospect.

_Dear Anna,  
I hope all continues to be well for you at Downton. Have they made you housekeeper yet? Tell that Mrs. Hughes of yours if she gets tired of her place, you’ll be happy to take it on for her._

They both smiled at the idea of Mrs. Hughes’ reaction to that comment.

“Why does she think you want to be a housekeeper?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s her idea of real advancement. At least she’s stopped asking me when I plan to be married.” The word hung between them, and Anna blushed, bending her head over the letter again.

_Things are quiet here. Your father works as hard as always, which is a good thing, because I don’t think I could bear to have him underfoot all day. The neighbors’ boy just got called up, and she’s carrying on like he’s going to save England single-handed. How he’ll do that, I can’t imagine, since as you know, the lad has a hard time finding his breakfast without getting lost on the way. I remember the days when I thought the two of you might grow up to make a match of it, but I suppose it’s all for the best now. At least you haven’t a young man at war you have to cry yourself to sleep over._

Anna couldn’t look up, sure that her cheeks were absolutely flaming red now. Mr. Bates knew she’d never written her mother about her feelings for him—Anna would never hear the end of it, if she did—but being twitted about her unattached state like this, in front of him, was almost too much to bear.

_Time to get this into the post and get a good start on my day. Make sure you eat well and bundle up warm, and write to me soon.  
Love, Mum_

“Now yours,” Anna said quickly, before he could comment on her mother’s words.

“Very well.” He took his letter from his coat pocket, slitting it open and removing the sheet.

_Dear John,  
Looks like another winter’s coming on. At my age, you always have to wonder which one will be your last. I don’t intend to go any time soon, but if I do, I want you to know I’ve put some savings by for you, in addition to the house. I hope you’ll use them wisely._

Mr. Bates looked at her over the top of the letter. “Cheerful, isn’t she?”

“Practical, I would say.” Anna reached for his hand, feeling his fingers close warmly around hers. “She just wants to make sure you’re taken care of.”

“She needn’t. I’m a grown man.”

“But she loves you—and who else does she have to care for?”

He let that one go, turning to the letter again without letting go of her hand.

_I hope you’ll say hello to Anna for me and remind her that she owes me a letter. She always brightens my day._

Mr. Bates smiled, his thumb stroking the back of her knuckles as if to say she brightened his, too.

_News of the war makes me remember what it was like when my boy was out there, and I pray for the souls of those who are fighting today, that as many of them as can will return home to those who love them. I am thankful that you returned in one piece, at least, from your war and that at last the darkness inside you seems to have gone. You are never far from my thoughts, my son.  
Your loving mother_

He folded the letter one-handed, his grip tightening on Anna’s hand. They sat in silence for a long time, thinking of their mothers and holding on to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: I have only watched Downton through season 3. I know there is less savory content about Anna's family life that comes out in season 4, but since I've never watched it, for this story, I consider canon only what came out in the first three seasons.


	36. Her Heart's Desire

_December 1915_

Christmas morning Bates awoke early, as usual. He got out of bed and dressed for the day before opening the top drawer of his bureau and taking out the small package he had for Anna. He turned it over in his hands, dissatisfied. It wasn’t much; a box of her favorite chocolates, which he’d picked up the last time he went to London with Lord Grantham. He had hoped to find something better, more meaningful, but nothing had come to him.

Anna would love it, of course. She always did. Her reactions to his gifts made him feel unworthy for not being able to give her what she really wanted—his hand and his name. And ultimately, that was what had him feeling badly today, that what he wanted to give her and what he had a right to give her were so different. He’d have showered her with diamonds, if she wanted such a thing, but she didn’t. Her heart’s desire was so simple, and so impossible.

With a sigh he tucked the box into his pocket and left the room.

The morning went by in a bustle of work, helping the family get ready for church, and before he knew it he found himself limping carefully down the icy paths, with Anna at his side as always. He stood next to her in church, their voices blending in the hymn. Anna glanced up at him, her eyes warm and happy, and Bates was hard put to smile back at her, so strong was the clenching of his stomach. He wanted to be hers in every way possible—wanted to love her freely, to be able to offer for her hand, to take her in his arms in all the different variations of passion and tenderness he could think of. And it nearly choked him that such a thing could never be. Bates knew quite well that the surest way to keep Vera from giving him a divorce was to go seeking her out and give her the upper hand. The only way it would ever happen was if she came to him, asking for it … and that event seemed so unlikely it wasn’t worth speculating about.

As Anna turned her head away from him, looking forward toward the altar, he wondered if she ever felt frustrated. She showed it so seldom—she was always just there, next to him, supporting him, believing in him, loving him. And he repaid her trust with despair, time and again.

And then it came to him. There was a gift he could give to her, one she would truly appreciate. He wouldn’t wait; he would give it to her now, while the spirit was upon him.

On the way back from church, he walked even more slowly than usual, allowing all the others to pull far ahead. Usually on days when he was holding her back from her duties he would encourage her to leave him to walk by himself, but he didn’t today. Anna glanced at him with curiosity. “Is your leg bothering you?”

Bates peered ahead. Yes, the others were nearly around the bend. It was as much privacy as could be expected. “No.” He stopped moving, turning to look at her. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Mr. Bates, it’s Christmas Day.” Anna looked up at him reproachfully, and he realized with a pang of guilt that she expected him to try once more to talk her out of her regard for him.

“I know it is. And I was standing there next to you in church thinking what a gift you are in my life.”

Her lips parted, a little gasp of surprise escaping her.

“I have tried to hold firm against my feelings for you. When I came to Downton, I thought that part of my life was over and I was content with that. I have nothing to offer any woman—any decent woman, that is.” He held up a hand as she began to speak. “I know, you don’t agree.”

Anna smiled at the acknowledgment, but didn’t carry her protest further, having made her point.

“When you made it clear that you had feelings for me, I thought if I could only keep from encouraging you, maybe you could turn your attention to someone more worthy, someone who had a future.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Make no mistake, Anna, whatever else is true, this is: It is very unlikely that Vera will ever give me a divorce. While I was in prison, I thought she might, but I believe she sees me as an asset to hold onto, in case she might need something from me in the future. She won’t let go of that easily.”

“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Bates. Not really.”

“It does, and we both know that it does. But Anna, through all of it, you have stood firm at my side. You’ve never wavered, you’ve never withdrawn your … your love and your trust. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have been sacked over that snuffbox.”

“Mr. Carson would have seen through that.”

“Maybe.” Bates didn’t agree, but that wasn’t the point. “You’ve given me so much, and I’ve repaid you with so little.”

“That’s not true!” Anna began. Bates put his gloved fingers over her lips.

“It is true. I’ve withheld myself from you with some idea that I was saving you from me, and I am sorry for that.”

She pulled his hand off her mouth. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do.” Bates took both of her hands in his. “I want to say this, so that you will know exactly how I feel. I don’t ever want you to wonder again.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I love you, Anna Smith. You are the truest friend I have ever had or ever hope to.”

Her eyes were very wide and very blue, shining with tears that trembled just on the edge of her lashes.

Bates’s own eyes felt suspiciously wet. He drew a deep breath to steady himself, as he could feel his throat closing with the strength of his emotions, and he wanted to tell her all of it, here and now. “I want nothing more from my life than to spend the rest of it with you. I know that even in the event of my being granted a divorce, we couldn’t be married in the church, and there would be people who would look down on me for being divorced in the first place. I won’t be getting any younger, and my leg is likely to get worse, rather than better. With all that to consider … If ever I am free to ask, could you—would you be willing to share your life with me?”

The tears were flowing freely down her face now, and her chin was trembling violently. She was past speech. All she could do was nod, and then she stepped forward and buried her face against his waistcoat, her shoulders shaking as she wept. Bates folded himself around her, cradling her against him, not at all ashamed that his shoulders were shaking, as well.


	37. A Call for Mr. Bates

_October 1916_

Anna was in the kitchen dropping off a load of dishes from luncheon when she heard the shrill of the telephone in Mr. Carson’s room. All the servants exchanged glances, but there was no time to wonder who was calling, or why. They had to hurry back up to the dining room.

As she brought a tray full of serving dishes down, Mr. Carson called to her from his room. She put the tray in the kitchen and went to see what the butler wanted.

“Anna, come in. That was a call for Mr. Bates. I’m afraid his mother has been taken very ill—his presence is needed in London, urgently.” The butler’s sad eyes made it clear that Mr. Bates’s mother was not long for this world.

She thought of the feisty old lady she’d come to know through letters over the last couple of years, and she was saddened for herself, as well as for Mr. Bates. “Does he know?”

“Not yet.” Mr. Carson cleared his throat. “He is upstairs in His Lordship’s dressing room. I thought it might be best if you were the one to tell him.”

“Me?” It was the first indication the butler had ever given that he knew of her relationship with Mr. Bates. He’d known for some time, she was sure—everyone did—but speaking of it to her openly was quite another thing. Anna was sure Mr. Carson never would have done so had the situation not been so delicate. “Of course. May I go up now?”

“I think you should.”

She bobbed a quick curtsey and hurried up the back stairs.

Mr. Bates had his lordship’s tails out and was studying the coat for any wear or staining. He turned around in surprise as Anna came in, his questioning look turning to one of concern as he caught the expression on her face. “Anna? What is it?” He came toward her.

“Oh, Mr. Bates. There was a call for you on Mr. Carson’s phone, from London.” She reached for his free hand, taking it in both of hers. “It was about your mother. She’s very ill … you’ll need to go to her at once. I’m so sorry!”

He winced, closing his eyes briefly. “What type of illness, do you know?”

“Mr. Carson didn’t say. He may know more—he asked me to come tell you.”

Mr. Bates nodded, shifting his grip so he could squeeze her hand. “That was thoughtful of him.”

“I’m so sorry. She’s a lovely woman.”

“Thank you, Anna.” He sighed, not letting go of her hand. “I should go downstairs and speak to Mr. Carson, find out what more he knows. I’ll have to go to London. I only hope I can get there in time.”

“Would you like me to come with you? I could help clean up the house and just … be there.”

His eyes warmed. “I would like that, very much, and I know Mother would, as well. But it wouldn’t be practical. Mr. Carson would never allow it.” Anna started to speak, to protest that she was sure she could convince Mr. Carson, but Mr. Bates shook his head. “And it wouldn’t be wise to have you there, in case …” He let his words trail off, and she could feel the shade of his wife between them. “It’s best not to.”

“I wish I could do something.”

“You already have.” He pulled her a couple of steps closer to him on the words, uttered in a low, husky tone.

Anna used his hand to anchor herself as she raised herself on her tiptoes, her eyes closing. This time their kiss was less brief, and less gentle. His mouth pressed firmly against hers and she suddenly wished his body would do the same. Fortunately, Mr. Bates remembered that they were still in his lordship’s dressing room, even if Anna didn’t. He pulled away and with a last squeeze let go of her hand.

None too soon, either, because just as she stepped back Lord Grantham himself came in. “What is this?”

“Your lordship, Anna came up to give me some bad news, I’m afraid,” Mr. Bates said. “My mother has been taken very ill in London; Mr. Carson got the call just a few minutes ago.”

Lord Grantham’s eyes moved from Bates to Anna and back again. Only long years of training kept her from lifting her hand to cover her mouth. Surely his lordship could tell. But he didn’t say anything to her, looking at Mr. Bates instead. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Bates.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Why don’t you go downstairs and find out the details from Carson. I can handle myself for the moment.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Anna gratefully escaped on a nod from his lordship. She was going to be wanted in Lady Mary’s room shortly, she suspect, to help her ladyship change into riding clothes. Before turning in that direction, she gave Mr. Bates’s hand a parting squeeze. “You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do to help?”

“Of course. Thank you, Anna.”

As she moved toward the ladies’ corridor, she could still feel his eyes on her.


	38. The Heart of the Matter

_October 1916_

Bates turned away from the fresh-heaped earth of his mother’s grave. He was glad at least that in the last several years they had repaired what had once been a very strained relationship. There had been a time in his life when he’d been a great disappointment to her, and she hadn’t been hesitant to say so, frequently and quite decisively. He’d inherited his sharp tongue from her, after all. But after he’d gone to jail, she had visited him faithfully, and there had been time for them to apologize to one another for the bad times and to learn to talk without arguing. He was grateful for that, and for the years since.

As he left the cemetery, he saw a tall, striking, well-dressed woman coming toward him, and he braced himself. Bates was just glad Vera had waited until the funeral was over, instead of forcing herself on him before his mother had even been decently buried. She’d appeared in his mother’s last days, no doubt already smelling the inheritance she would have claim to half of, and he’d told her off then in no uncertain terms, telling her to return only when his mother was past all earthly harm. The two women had always brought out the worst in one another, and he wouldn’t have his mother’s final days marred by a screaming match with a daughter-in-law she had always despised. He wished Anna could have been there in Vera’s place—he knew his mother had felt the same. Although they had both left Anna’s name out of their conversations, when his mother had squeezed his hand and asked him to promise to try to be happy, he had known what—and who—she had meant.

He brought himself back to the present, and the woman staring at him with a smirk on her face. “I thought you’d be back, Vera. I had hoped you might have waited an hour after the burial, for decency’s sake.” 

Vera ignored the sarcasm. “You mean Mrs. Bates, don’t you?” She smiled, her large white teeth shining. He couldn’t help the disgust he felt at hearing her lay claim to a name that in his mind he had already withdrawn from her and prepared to give to Anna, and Vera, sharp-eyed as always, didn’t miss it. “So, there’s a bit on the side, is there?”

“Keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“Oh, come now.” She slipped her arm through his, on the cane side where it would be most awkward. “We have so much to talk about. What did Mother Bates leave us?”

“That all depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re willing to give me a divorce.”

“Well, we do jump quickly to the heart of the matter, don’t we? No time to mourn the passing of the woman we both loved so much?”

“You’ve never loved anyone but yourself, Vera.”

“And there’s the Jack I knew. Give us a kiss, husband of mine.”

“That was done with long ago.” He shook her arm off. “I’ve paid for my crimes in our marriage already. What about you?”

“Me? I was more sinned against than sinning, and well you know it. Too bad I never had the foresight to take pictures of the bruises.” She sighed dramatically.

Bates’s hand clenched tightly on the head of the cane. “There were never any bruises.”

Vera laughed. “None that you could prove you didn’t give me.” Then the smile faded, and the dangerous, calculating look he feared came into her eyes. “We both know there could have been bruises of a very interesting kind. You weren’t always gentle, were you?”

He didn’t want to think of those times. That had been a different life, and he had let go of the anger he’d felt then, the desire to punish that Vera had taken and given back so readily. “Vera. What will it take?”

“You’ve turned into a big disappointment, Jack, always harping on this idea. What if I don’t want a divorce?”

“I could make it worth your while. How much do you want?”

“Oh, now, that’s interesting. How much do you have?”

Bates clenched his teeth. He had known this wasn’t going to be easy, if she let it happen at all. “I’m not sure yet. I have to go over the final papers and find out the value of the house.”

“You do that. I’ll be in touch once you have, and we’ll see if we can’t come to an agreement.” She kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering, and he could smell brandy on her breath. The scent didn’t entice him as it once would have; it sickened him, just as she did. He was glad to see her go.

It was only once she rounded the corner and was gone from his sight that Bates realized the true import of the conversation—she was actually considering granting him a divorce. His heart lifted as he thought of Anna’s face when he told her; he couldn’t wait to go home to Downton.


	39. Yours, John Bates

_November 1916_

Anna was just clearing up the mending she’d been doing when Mr. Carson came in with a stack of letters in his hands. One for Miss O’Brien from her sister; one for William from his mother; one for one of the kitchen maids; one for Anna. She took the envelope with some curiosity, as it wasn’t her mother’s usual day for a letter and of course, there would be no more letters from Mrs. Bates, whose humour and bluntness Anna dearly missed.

At first, she couldn’t place the confident, upright hand on the envelope. When she finally remembered where she had seen it before, a blush heated her cheeks, her heart pounding. It hadn’t occurred to her that Mr. Bates might write to her while he was gone clearing up his mother’s house, but she was so glad he had. She missed him more than she would have thought possible.

O’Brien looked up from her own letter. “He couldn’t go a week without talking to you?” she asked sharply.

“Jealous?” Anna asked. She tucked the letter away in her apron pocket. Much as she longed to read it right away, she’d rather wait until she had more privacy. Not that she expected it to be an intimate letter, but she’d prefer not to be reading it under O’Brien’s critical eye.

After dinner was over and her ladies were taken care of, she excused herself and went straight up to her room. The newest maid was coming next week, so for now Anna still had the room to herself. In general, she disliked sleeping alone—she’d never done so in her whole life before Gwen left Downton—but she appreciated the privacy tonight. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she slit open the envelope and withdrew the paper.

_Dear Anna,_  
Once when you were going away you asked me if I would miss you while you were gone. At the time, I still hoped to convince you that you could turn your attention to someone more worthy of you, and I ducked the question. I’ll answer it now, if I may. Because I miss you the way I would miss my arm if it were no longer attached to my body. I am constantly turning to talk to you, to tell you what I’m thinking, and to see in your eyes that you know without my having to tell you. I wish I could have taken you up on your generous offer to come with me—I know my mother would have liked to have had you at her funeral yesterday and it would have helped me a great deal to have you my side.  
As it turns out, however, it was as well you didn’t come along. I now think it possible that when I return in a few more days, I might have some news I hadn’t expected. I won’t say more until I’m sure.  
I am counting the days until I am home again at Downton—with you.  
Yours,  
John Bates

Anna read the letter again, quickly, greedily, then once more, savoring and thinking about every word. News he hadn’t expected? He must have seen his wife—Anna felt a pang of jealousy, wondering what the woman looked like, how she dressed, whether he’d been happy to see her. If there was news, though, then maybe he had talked to her about a divorce? Her heart leaped at the very thought, but she pushed it back down. She refused to get her hopes up on such vague hints.

Her thumb rubbed across his name, and she couldn’t help smiling at his formality, thinking that he must have smiled, too, when writing it that way. Despite herself, she went to sleep dreaming of being given the right to use his first name.


	40. To Make Her His Wife

_November 1916_

As Bates exited the car, his first sight of Anna made him feel truly alive for the first time in over a week. He had grieved for his mother and had been grateful for the time they’d had together; he had cleared out the rooms of her house as best he could and prepared it for eventual sale; and he had had several tense and uncomfortable meetings with his wife. She hadn’t promised a divorce, not exactly, but she had indicated that she was open to being bought, if he could find the right number. Coming from Vera, it was as good as a promise, he told himself.

Any doubts he’d had as to his next course of action disappeared with Anna’s smile. He loved her—he could admit that freely now—and there was nothing he wanted in the world more than to make her his wife as soon as he could possibly secure his freedom.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” Anna’s eyes were sparkling.

“I didn’t know until today.” He couldn’t help taking a moment just to look at her; if he’d ever seen a more captivating woman, he didn’t know when. He could have stood there all day, just warming himself with her presence, but Lady Mary, who had arrived with him, would be wanting her, and he had things he needed to do. Bates could feel Anna’s gaze on him as he went around the house toward the servants’ entrance.

He took the first chance he could to find Lord Grantham alone, catching his lordship at work in his office.

“Ah, you’re back. The household can run properly again.”

“Thank you, my lord. That’s very kind.”

“Not at all. You’ve been terribly missed. Poor William can’t manage the uniform.”

“Well, that’s certainly not a problem for me. I’m all too familiar.” They shared a look, that of two old war comrades for the moment, rather than that of master and servant. “Your lordship, I wondered if I might have a moment of your time on a rather delicate matter.”

“You’re not leaving me, are you, Bates?”

“No, my lord. I wouldn’t dream of doing so.”

“That’s a relief. Please, come in and tell me what’s on your mind, then.” His lordship gestured to a spot near his chair. In the first months, he might have gestured to another chair, instead, but Bates had steadfastly refused any special treatment because of either his leg or their previous relationship.

“You are aware of my … marital situation, my lord?”

“Yes. Do I take it you have seen your wife while you were in London?”

“I have. And she has indicated that she might be willing to grant me a divorce.”

“Ah. I’m glad to hear it.” It was the closest his lordship had come to alluding to Bates’s decision to go to jail for Vera’s crimes. Thanks to Anna, it was an open secret in the house. Bates had found he didn’t mind having his lordship know the truth, even if he couldn’t have borne admitting it himself. “Do you need time off to file papers or something along those lines?”

“No, your lordship. What I wanted to discuss with you is … you may be aware that there is a certain … attachment between myself and Anna.” Bates could feel his cheeks heating. It was certainly an uncomfortable conversation to be having with his employer.

A small smile crossed Lord Grantham’s face. “Yes.”

Bates couldn’t help smiling, as well. He still didn’t know what Anna saw in a crippled man so many years her senior, but she quite evidently saw something, and it was the joy of his life. “My lord, I … when I can secure the divorce, I want to marry Anna.”

His lordship stood up, his smile broadening. “I’m glad to hear it. Anna’s quite a girl.”

“Yes, that she is.”

“Do you have a sense of when that might be?”

“I don’t believe we will want to wait long once my divorce is official.”

“That’s rather hasty, isn’t it?”

“I suppose that depends on your point of view, my lord. I’ve been in lo—I’ve cared for Anna for several years, and I never thought I would have this chance. I wouldn’t want to waste a moment.”

“Why, Bates, you’re a closet romantic!” Lord Grantham chuckled. “I suppose I should have guessed as much. Will the two of you be wanting to leave Downton together?”

“I don’t think so, not at first. Perhaps down the road a little, but I believe we’d prefer to stay on for now.”

“In that case, you both have my hearty approval. When you’re ready, I think we can find you a cottage near Downton to live in as long as you choose to stay. And I believe it goes without saying that I’d like to be invited to the wedding.”

“You are very generous, my lord.”

“You and Anna are very important to us here, Bates.” Lord Grantham clapped him on the shoulder. “What does Anna say to all this?”

“I haven’t told her yet. I was waiting until I had spoken to you.”

“Really?” His lordship laughed, his eyes twinkling. “My dear Bates, I wouldn’t be in your shoes for all the tea in China.”

As Bates left the office, he wondered what Lord Grantham had meant. Anna would be delighted with the plans, he was sure of it.


	41. Similar Positions

_November 1916_

Lady Sybil leaned against Lady Mary’s bedpost, watching her sister dress for dinner. “Glad to be back?”

Lady Mary gave no outward reaction to the question, but Anna, her fingers buried in the other woman’s hair, could feel her tension suddenly increase. When she spoke, Lady Mary betrayed no emotion. “I’m never sure. When I’m in London, I long for Yorkshire, and when I’m here I ache to hear my heels clicking on the pavement.” She changed the subject, dabbing on perfume as she talked. “I’d forgotten about this nightmare concert. Why didn’t you warn me? I’d have come back tomorrow.”

With a smirk on her face that was all too obvious, Lady Edith said, “But you’d have missed Matthew.”

Lady Mary caught her sister’s eyes in the mirror. Anna kept her mouth shut and her focus firmly on Lady Mary’s hair as Lady Grantham leaned forward with a guilty smile.

“I was going to tell you. Matthew’s on leave, and he’s in the village. So … Papa and I thought it would be a good time to mend our fences. He’s coming tonight with Isobel.”

“And his fiance,” Lady Edith added. Anna could have strangled her. She supposed she understood the hostility between the two oldest sisters … but Lady Edith’s spite never sat well with her.

Lady Mary was not proof against this final blow. Her eyes widened, her breath stilling. “What?”

“Edith,” Lady Grantham said, ineffectually exasperated. “I don’t know how helpful you’re being.”

Anna just barely restrained herself from shaking her head. Lady Edith wasn’t trying to be helpful in the least, anyone could see that … except, apparently, her mother.

Lady Sybil, clearly trying to ease the tension, made the delayed official announcement. “Matthew’s engaged. He’s brought her to Downton to meet his mother.”

As she put the finishing touches to Lady Mary’s hair, Anna couldn’t help but think how odd it was that she and Lady Mary were now in such similar positions—both of them loving men who were tied to another woman. She wouldn’t have wished it on Lady Mary; she’d been hoping Lady Mary and Mr. Matthew would find their way back to one another.

Lady Mary searched for words, recovering herself at last. “Well, how marvelous.” But she got up, reaching for her gloves, so her eyes couldn’t be seen in the mirror.

“You don’t mind?” Lady Sybil asked.

“Why should I? We’re not going to marry, but I don’t want him to spend the rest of his life in a cave.”

Bent down fixing Lady Mary’s hem, Anna couldn’t see her expression, but she could tell it was an act, as surely they all could. It was a good act, though, and she admired the other woman for it.

“That’s exactly what Papa and I feel,” Lady Grantham said earnestly. Perhaps she couldn’t tell it was an act … or perhaps she was trying to help Lady Mary carry it off. Anna could never quite read her ladyship. “Please try to be happy for him.”

“Of course I’m happy! Good luck to him.”

Lady Mary couldn’t see her sister’s face, but Anna could. Lady Edith looked quite pleased with herself over the hurt she’d given.

“Anyway,” Lady Mary continued, “there’s someone I want you all to meet. Have you ever come across Richard Carlisle?”

“Sir Richard Carlisle? The one with all those horrid newspapers?” Lady Edith asked, her face souring at the turn of the conversation and the loss of her triumph over her sister.

“We met at Clivedon.”

“But how old is he?” Lady Edith’s tone was suddenly strident.

“Old enough not to ask stupid questions. Anyway, I can’t wait for you to know him. If only Papa hadn’t closed down the shoot.” Lady Mary’s tone was businesslike. There were many parts of Lady Mary’s life to envy, but this need to marry, to market herself off to someone with money and status who would secure her future and the future of Downton, was not one of them. Anna was profoundly grateful that it mattered to no one but her, and occasionally her mother, if she ever married. She couldn’t imagine feeling what she felt for Mr. Bates and then having to go off and marry someone else instead, the way Lady Mary was having to, despite her feelings for Mr. Matthew.

“Most people have stopped shooting now that the war’s on,” Lady Grantham said. “But I’m sure Papa will be happy to have Sir Richard come and stay.” She sounded upset, and Anna wondered why. The only person more practically minded about Lady Mary’s marriage prospects than Lady Mary herself was her mother … and they both knew, as Anna did, the incredible importance of Lady Mary finding a match before any more rumors about that horrible Turkish gentleman got out. His still face hovered at the corner of Anna’s mind for a moment before she pushed it firmly aside.

Lady Edith, still sour, said, “Are you? I shouldn’t have thought he was Papa’s type at all.”

Lady Grantham and Lady Sybil headed for the door, pausing to look over their shoulder at Lady Mary. “You coming?”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Lady Mary said brightly.

Reluctantly, Lady Edith got up and followed Lady Sybil out of the room, and Lady Grantham hesitated in the doorway for a moment and then followed them. The tension in the room eased palpably once they were gone.

Anna turned to Lady Mary. “Are you all right, milady?”

Lady Mary tried to respond as she would have to the others, but her face crumpled. “Oh, Anna.” She put her face in her hands to cover her feelings, but they filled the room now that she had let them out. Anna went to her, putting her hand on Lady Mary’s shoulder.

They stood like that for a long moment as Lady Mary pulled herself together. She looked up at Anna. “Is this how you feel? Knowing it’s impossible?”

“Sometimes, my lady.”

“How do you bear it?”

Anna shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“You’re very strong, Anna.”

“I don’t know about that, my lady. I just … things are what they are, and you have to face them.”

“Yes. You do, don’t you?” Lady Mary sat up, looking at herself in the mirror. “There’s really no other choice. Thank you, Anna.”


	42. Where She Belonged

_November 1916_

The news bubbled up inside Bates with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. He couldn’t wait to tell Anna, and looked all day for a time to catch her alone but couldn’t find the briefest moment. Finally, he found her in the servants’ hall, coming up behind her as she set a box on the table. She turned, startled, and giggled at finding him so close. In truth, Bates rather wanted to giggle as well. Her proximity only increased his eagerness.

Without preamble, he leaned in as close as he dared and whispered, “When can I talk to you?”

“After the concert. Outside in the courtyard. There’s bound to be a gap before they start dinner.” She was practically beaming herself; she must have guessed from the hints in his letter, or from his demeanour.

It was hard to go about his work without pausing frequently to smile over it all. He’d never dared to dream he might be free to marry Anna, and being even this close was the greatest happiness he’d known since … since before Africa.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
He had a hard time sitting next to her throughout the concert, chatting with her in the gaps between performances, without reaching to touch her or leaning over to whisper into her ear the words he now felt he had a right to say.

But somewhere along in the middle of the concert, as she glanced at him with questions in her eyes, clearly as excited to hear what he had to say as he was to say it, Bates began to wonder if he was doing the right thing. Vera hadn’t promised him anything; maybe it was too soon to be getting Anna’s hopes up. And was it right to speak at all? He was much older than she was, lame in one leg, still married. The best he could do was to get a divorce, which would still mean she couldn’t be married in the church. Perhaps he wasn’t right to be asking her to chain her life to his.

The effervescence he had felt all day slowly ebbed until he could feel his own doubts like a layer of frost on his skin. Even the warmth of Anna sitting next to him—where she belonged, his mind whispered—couldn’t alleviate the sudden chill.

At the same time, he couldn’t avoid the subject now. He had spoken to Lord Grantham already; he had hinted to Anna; and God help him, but he loved her too much to miss this chance, even if it would be in her best interests to do so.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
As soon as possible after the end of the concert, they hurried outside. It was cool out, but that was nothing to the alternating heat and cold that permeated Bates’s body.

Anna turned to him the moment the door had closed, leaving them alone. “What is it? What happened while you were in London? I know there’s something—you look like the cat who swallowed the canary.”

It was now or never. At least he could tell her what progress had been made, see what her reaction was. Something deep down inside him didn’t trust that a woman like Anna would truly want to marry him when it came down to it; perhaps she would make the choice for him. “Vera—my wife—was there.” He had never uttered the words “my wife” in Anna’s presence before. They sounded very wrong to his ears.

“And?”

“And I think my situation may have changed somewhat.”

“What? How? When did you see her?”

“She just turned up at my mother’s house, not long before she died.”

“So … what does it mean?” Anna appeared to be holding her breath.

He let his out, slowly. “I think it means, at long last … I’m able to get a divorce.”

Any concerns he’d had about Anna’s feelings were lost in the sudden starry-eyed, albeit somewhat hesitant joy on her face. “Mr. Bates,” she said shakily, “is this a proposal?”

Lord, she was quick. She knew what she wanted; he loved that about her. “If that’s what you want to call it,” he whispered, giving her one last chance to avoid tying herself down to such a damaged man. But she kept looking at him with those bright, happy eyes, and he relented, smiling. “And you might start calling me John.” Not that he didn’t love the way she said “Mr. Bates” … but he thought he could quite like hearing her use his given name, as well.

Anna’s chin was quivering as she fought the swell of her emotions, but her innate practicality couldn’t let things rest just so. “Why are you sure she’ll do it now, when she’s refused for so long?”

“Mother left me some money. Much more than I thought. Vera’s a greedy woman; she won’t refuse what I can offer her.”

“Will we have to leave Downton?”

He hastened to reassure her. “No, not till we want to. I’ve spoken to his lordship and he will find a cottage for us near the house.”

The approving smile he had expected failed to appear on Anna’s face. “You told him you want to marry me?”

“I did.”

“Before you spoke to me.”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course I mind!” But she couldn’t hold her happiness in any longer, the smile he wanted so badly to see spreading across her face. “In fact, I’d give you a smack if I didn’t want to kiss you so bad I could burst!”

He slid his hand across her cheek, his fingers curving around the back of her neck. It was impossible to take his eyes off her; she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Slowly, he drew her toward him until their lips met, hers soft and warm. She tasted like fresh rain, and he reveled in finally having the freedom to kiss her properly.

As slowly as they had come together, they broke apart, but the moment lingered between them, until by mutual need they embraced, Bates folding Anna in his arms the way he had wanted to do almost from the beginning. He never wanted her to be anywhere else; this was where she belonged.


	43. Clouds of Happiness

_November 1916_

Anna had barely managed to do her work the rest of the night after the concert, and this morning she had been reprimanded by Lady Edith for letting her mind wander while she was supposed to be dressing her hair. But Anna couldn’t help it; she’d never dreamed this day would come, and her head was full of Mr. Bates. She couldn’t yet think of him as John. Not quite yet.  
Every glimpse she had of him bore an all-new kind of excitement, butterflies filling her belly at the memory of his kiss and the anticipation of more yet to come. She felt as though she were walking around in a dream.

Late that night, when most of the others had gone to bed, Anna brought her cup of tea into the servants’ hall, but it sat unregarded at her elbow as she stared into space, remembering last night and looking through clouds of happiness into the future.

“You look a thousand miles away.”

His voice made her jump; she’d been so lost in her fantasies that she hadn’t even heard his cane as he approached. “No farther than right next to you,” Anna said, blushing a little. It was all new, being able to speak so openly, even to him. He’d never wanted to speak out, or to have her do so. No doubt because he thought he would never have the freedom to truly offer for her. But now all that was changed, and Anna could feel joy spreading all through her, even to the tips of her fingers.

Mr. Bates was smiling as he took the seat next to her. Anna turned to face him, and he leaned toward her, reaching for her hands. The touch felt so natural, so right. Anna’s thumbs rubbed over the backs of his hands. “What were you thinking of?” he asked, low and intimate.

“Our future.”

His hands tightened on hers. “And what plans were you making?”

“How do you know I was making plans?”

“Because you were. Weren’t you?” Mr. Bates’s eyes were tender as he looked up into hers.

“All right, I was thinking about … a few things.”

“Such as?”

But Anna felt shy, suddenly. “I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

“You couldn’t possibly be. Shall I tell you some of the things I was thinking?”

“Yes, please.”

“Well, I thought we could sell my mother’s house and start a little nest egg.”

“Would you mind doing that?”

“Selling?” He looked surprised at the question.

“Yes. After all, it was your mother’s.”

Mr. Bates frowned a little, thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way.”

Anna shook her head. “I don’t think we should sell your mother’s house. Not yet.”

“We could rent it out, then we could save. When I have some time off, I’ll go up to London and get it ready.”

“Maybe I can come with you; we could do it together.”

They looked at each other for a moment, remembering her similar offer before he’d gone to London to care for his mother. Such a short time ago, but such a difference.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said, “that a bit later on, if we want to …” His voice trailed off, and Anna was overwhelmed at the very thought of what he was suggesting. Even she hadn’t allowed herself to dream so big, not yet.

“If we want to start a family,” she finished for him, feeling her cheeks heat at the idea of children—and what came before them.

An answering smile, private and knowing, curved his lips before he continued, “I thought, when the time is right, we might sell, and we could buy a small hotel, just a—just a little one. Maybe near here.”

Anna’s eyes filled with tears. It wasn’t even just that the future he was describing was actually possible—it was equally as much that he had thought of it, that he’d obviously been dreaming about a life with her just as she had dreamt about a life with him. She could barely sit still for the joy that coursed through her limbs.

He went on, “Then we could work together, and have the children with us.” Anna sniffed, trying not to let the tears fall, but he noticed anyway. “What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just … in my whole life, I never thought that I could be as happy as I am at this moment.”

Whatever his response might have been was lost when Ethel came clacking sharply in, scraping her chair loudly across the floor and dropping her book heavily on the table for emphasis. The moment was broken … but nothing could take it away.


	44. The Right Person

_November 1916_

If being around Mr. Bates had been distracting before, when everything she felt had to be hidden away and kept inside herself, it was doubly—triply—so now that everyone knew they were an engaged couple. Mr. Carson had cleared his throat and hemmed and hawed; Mrs. Hughes had looked at Anna with a smile that didn’t quite hide the concerns she felt. Mrs. Patmore had been fierce in her happiness for them, William wistful. O’Brien had said some contemptuous things, and Ethel had eyed Mr. Bates up and down, clearly wondering what Anna saw in him. Daisy had offered to make something special in celebration, an offer Mrs. Patmore had immediately squashed.

And in the midst of it all, there had been his smile, which had always been specially for her, but now had even more meaning than it had had before. Anna couldn’t help thinking about the kiss they had shared. Was it proper to ask for more kisses now that they were truly an engaged couple? There had been a warmth inside her as they kissed that she wanted very much to feel again.

His leg shifted next to hers under the table and Anna felt an echo of that warmth at the contact. Suddenly she was aware of his body all the time in a way she had only experienced once or twice before. She ducked her head, blushing at her own thoughts, glad the meal was almost over so she could flee outside and cool off a bit. She would have to stop thinking these things or she’d never be able to go about her work properly, or sit next to him at mealtimes under Mrs. Hughes’ watchful eye.

She scurried outside as soon as the meal was over. It was really too cold to be out here, but the chilly air felt good on her burning cheeks.

The tap of his cane preceded him. “Anna?”

“Oh, hello,” she said, looking up at him. She no longer felt comfortable calling him Mr. Bates, but she wasn’t yet sure enough of everything to call him John, either. It seemed terribly presumptuous.

“What are you doing out here all alone?”

So much for the cool air. She felt heat sweeping up her face and knew she must be blushing furiously. Could she really admit to him what she was doing out here? As he sat down next to her, she thought surely nice girls didn’t talk about these feelings. Then again, she was his fiancee now, and they weren’t supposed to be keeping secrets from one another … not anymore, at least. If she couldn’t tell him, who could she tell? Besides which, she was sure he would like to hear how she felt. “I was … overheated indoors.”

“Are you coming down with something?”

Biting her lip, she shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I was just … I was thinking about …” She looked away from him. “I was thinking about you,” she said in a hurried whisper.

There was a silence, then, “Oh. I see.” There was a warmth in his voice now, and she turned around to see him smiling at her.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Far from it. Anna …” His gloved hand touched her chin, lifting her face toward him. “You make me feel that way, too.”

“I do?” It was hard to fathom. Surrounded by beautifully dressed ladies all day, Anna had a hard time seeing herself as particularly attractive. Not that there was anything wrong with her, especially, but a maid’s uniform was hardly the most flattering type of clothing a person could wear.

“Oh, yes.”

“Mr. Bates?” The formal title slipped out by habit, but she ignored it, as did he. His fingers were still under her chin, and she thought even through his gloves he must be able to feel her pulse pounding. “Would you think me terribly forward if I—if I asked you to kiss me?”

“It would be my very great pleasure.” His face moved closer to hers and Anna’s eyes closed of their own volition as she waited. The first touch of his lips was soft and gentle, as their previous kisses had been. Then the pressure became firmer until Anna gasped. She felt the brush of something warm and wet against her lips, realizing with surprise that it was his tongue. When she boldly reached to touch it with her own, the warmth inside her turned to heat, and she heard a small sound she’d never known herself to make before. He caught his breath in response, his hand leaving her chin to cup the back of her neck, bringing her even closer as his tongue moved farther into her mouth, exploring.

It was too much, the darkness and the heat and the sharp, sweet feeling in the pit of her stomach. Anna pulled back, finding his eyes on her with an intensity that did nothing to calm her. “Oh, my.”

Mr. Bates chuckled. He took his hand off her neck and shifted a bit away from her. Anna was glad of the distance, as it gave her a chance to cool down and let her heart stop racing.

“Anna?” he asked presently. “Do you mind my asking a … personal question?”

“No. I have nothing to hide from you.” She put her small, cold hand into his large, gloved one.

“There’s never been anyone who ... touched your heart?”

She shook her head. “Not for lack of trying. There were a couple of footmen in my first job, but they weren’t honourable men, and I wanted to wait until I found the right person.”

His hand closed firmly over hers. “I won’t ask what makes you think I’m the right person. When a miracle lands in your lap, you don’t question it. Not if you’re sensible.”

“I’m not a miracle.”

“Yes. You are.” He let go of her hand and put his arm around her, pulling her close to him.

This was a different kind of warmth—less exciting, maybe, but certainly just as nice. Anna leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling as though she’d found her right place at last.


	45. An Indelicate Question

_November 1916_

The smile on her face wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she tried to school her features into the impassive mask of a servant. Lady Mary, seated before the glass while Anna brushed her hair, caught her gaze in the mirror.

“Anna, you look very happy today.”

“I am, my lady.”

“I have heard that you are engaged to marry Bates. Is that true?” There was a little wrinkle in Lady Mary’s forehead, as if she found it hard to believe.

Anna could see her own blush in the mirror, and she dropped a hairpin. “Yes, my lady.” She got down on her hands and knees to search for it.

“And … I’m sorry, this is an indelicate question.”

“What is?” Ah, there it was. She picked up the hairpin and got to her feet.

“Are you marrying him because he represents a chance to leave service and move on with your life, or because you really care about him?”

It was a startlingly personal question, but after all, hadn’t they shared some personal things? Anna remembered the cold body and staring eyes of the dead Turk and shivered.

“Anna?”

“Sorry, my lady. The answer is that I care about him very much. I have for a long time.”

“He’s married, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but unhappily so. He’s hoping to get a divorce.” She went back to the hairstyle.

“Does that bother you, that he’ll be divorced?”

Anna chuckled. “I prefer him divorced to married to another woman.”

Lady Mary smiled, too. “Yes, I suppose you would. Can I ask you another?”

“If you like.”

“How did you know?”

“How did I know what?”

“That you were sure. That you wanted to marry him.” Lady Mary’s eyes were wide and pain-filled, and Anna thought with sympathy about the row over her almost-engagement to Mr. Matthew. “You see, I have such trouble knowing, for sure. I can’t imagine how anyone can tie themselves down for a lifetime that way. What if in ten years everything’s changed and you want something else?”

Anna took a deep breath. “Oh, my lady, what a set of questions.”

“Yes, it is. But … I need to know, if you can answer any of them.”

“Well, then. I suppose I knew when the first thing I thought about every morning was how much I looked forward to seeing him, and the last thing I thought about every night was everything he had said to me all day. Or when he’d go to London with his lordship and the servants’ hall would seem so empty without him it practically echoed. Or when I got used to looking up and knowing he knew just what I was thinking.” Anna shrugged. “We belong together, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Did—does he feel the same?”

“He didn’t, for a long while. Or, rather, he did, but he thought it was better for me to find someone else.”

“Because he’d been in jail.”

“Yes, that, and because he was married. He’s not very proud of that time in his life, and I think it took him some time to let go of it.”

Lady Mary nodded, wincing when the motion caused Anna to pull her hair a little. “You belong together. But what if you stop belonging together?”

“Where would we be, if we dithered around wondering what might happen someday? Today is enough for me, and tomorrow, and those I want to spend with him.”

“You’re very practical, Anna.”

“Why shouldn’t I be, my lady? I deal with practical things every day.”

“Yes, that’s a good point.” Lady Mary sighed, looking at herself in the mirror. “Of course, it makes very little difference now.”

Anna said nothing, knowing her ladyship was thinking of Mr. Matthew, somewhere in France. As she gave the final touches to Lady Mary’s hair, she said a little prayer that God would send Mr. Matthew back to them safe and sound, and that Lady Mary would learn to listen to her own heart in the meantime … and, just perhaps, that his engagement could be broken without further pain to anyone.


	46. The Man She Had Married

_November 1916_

He would have known that voice anywhere. Even disguised, he would have known it from the sickness in the pit of his stomach. But it wasn’t disguised right now; she was letting it ring through the servants’ hall, and enjoying it greatly. Bates could tell as much without even seeing her.

He came around the corner to see one of his worst nightmares: Anna, small and slim and indomitable, facing Vera, who sat in her chair as though she owned all of Downton. They were staring at each other, and there was a world of challenge in the look they shared. Both of them turned toward him as he stopped there in the doorway—Vera smug, Anna calm and collected.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Vera.” She didn’t speak, merely looked affronted, and in spite of himself he felt chastened. He’d been at the receiving end of that look too often before to be fully immune to its power. “I was in the attic, sorting out some cupboards.” His words trailed off; he could hardly bear to look at Anna. What must she think of him, now that she’d seen the woman he had willingly chained his life to?

“Don’t worry,” Vera cooed. “I’ve been having a nice time here with Ethel, and Miss … Smith.”

Anna, the good servant, let nothing of what she must feel show in her face, but her eyes were filled with anger. Was that directed at him or at Vera? He was afraid to ask.

Fortunately Mrs. Hughes came in just then, breaking the tension before the scene could turn any uglier. “Mr. Bates, Ethel told me about your visitor. So I’ve had the tea put in my sitting room. I thought you might take Mrs. Bates in there.”

“That’s very thoughtful.”

Vera gave the smallest possible smile. “It is. But then, you’re all so kind. I’m beginning to understand why my Batesy’s got so spoiled.” She was looking at Anna again, daring her to object to the insolence and the inappropriate familiarity.

As far as Bates was concerned, Anna had won whatever battle there was—she hadn’t stooped to trading barbs. But she didn’t hold the upper hand. Vera had that, and Bates was suddenly far less sure than he had been that she would be willing to relinquish it, even for money.

Mrs. Hughes led the way to her sitting room, and Vera hooked an arm in his to be sure he had no chance even to glance backward at Anna, much as he longed to do so.

“Well, I’ll leave the two of you to your talk,” Mrs. Hughes said, closing the door behind them. Bates had a sudden desire to ask her to stay, but Vera would have found a way to get him alone eventually. This seemed the most painless path.

Or it did, until the door closed. Vera didn’t even wait to sit before announcing, “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t want a divorce.”

It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but the blow hurt, for all that.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard.” He bit the words off, afraid to say more. His anger was threatening to bubble to the surface, and it would be the worst thing he could do to let it rise.

Vera took a seat then, pouring the tea—for all the world like a proper lady, even though both of them knew she wasn’t any such thing. “Sit down,” she said, chidingly.

“I don’t want to sit down,” he snapped.

“Suit yourself.”

Bates took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t the man she had married, he reminded himself. Prison had changed him; going off the bottle had changed him; he had changed himself. “Look,” he said at last, “I’m not saying it’s all your fault for how things were between us. But I couldn’t go back to that.” She had liked him angry, and drunk, and just this side of abusive. She’d taken his hard words like kisses and come back for more, and he had gladly given it to her. That life was over, and good riddance to it. “I’ll take the blame; I’ll go to some hotel in Moulton with a tart. So why hold on?”

“Because I tried it on my own, and I don’t like it.” She covered the sincerity of the statement with one of her false smiles. “You’ve got money now. We’ll be comfortable.”

He couldn’t help the bitter laugh that came to his lips. “You’re out of your mind. What makes you think that I would allow that to happen?”

Vera looked at him across the top of her teacup. “You went to prison for me once.” She sipped the tea with a pleased sigh. “I must say, this is very good. Does Lord Grantham have his own blend?”

The sheer pretense of it all, the attempt at civility, was too ridiculous for words. “Is that all?”

“Not quite.” The venom was back now, the real Vera peeking out from beneath the veneer. “You see, if you don’t come back to me, I’m going to the newspapers with a cracking story, and I’d like to bet the Granthams won’t survive it.”

“Oh? And what nonsense is this?”

“The nonsense I heard when I used your name to get a job with Lady Flintshire. His lordship’s cousin.”

“I know who Lady Flintshire is.”

“Well, when I arrived, her maid asked me if it was true.” Her eyes were glinting now, and he knew that look. She wasn’t bluffing. And she went on. “About Lady Mary Crawley and the Turkish diplomat. They thought I’d know, you see. Being your wife.”

Bates was no fool; he hadn’t missed Lady Mary’s upset after the Turk had died, and it wasn’t difficult to believe there was something more to the story than was publicly known. Nevertheless. “I hope you told them you knew nothing about it.”

She laughed in his face, as he had known she would. It went on a moment, the sheer mirth taking her. She let it trail off eventually, giving him her sidelong look. “As if.” He hated that smile, the curved cruel smile of a vulture. “I said, ‘why don’t you tell me what you think you know, and I’ll tell you if it’s true’.” Vera took another sip of her tea, closing her eyes with enjoyment. “Goodness me. Wasn’t my patience rewarded. The public’s bored with the war, you see. They like gossip … and a diplomat dying in the bed of an earl’s unmarried daughter? Well. That takes the ticket for the tale of the year.”

“It’s a pack of lies,” he said savagely.

“I assume that’s loyalty, and not ignorance.” God, he hated the way she made him feel like a fool. “Because I heard that Lady Mary used her maid to help her carry him, and yes, you guessed it.”

He was far ahead of her, suddenly remembering how distracted Anna had been in the days after the Turk’s death. It was worse than he had thought.

Vera could clearly see the wheels turning in his head, because she was positively gleeful as she continued. “Your precious Anna’s going to figure in the story, too. Not to worry too much. It’s not a criminal offense, is it? Just a social one.”

Bates couldn’t take it anymore. The leashed anger inside him slipped his control, and he reached for her arm, holding it tightly while he fought for what little restraint was left in him. “You bitch.”

As their arms, sticking up between them, shook with the force of his anger, Vera met his eyes, utterly unafraid. “Please,” she whispered, her face hard and ugly now that she knew she had won, “be my guest. And then you must excuse me while I run into town and have it photographed.”

The sight of his ring on her finger, and the sheer knowledge that she had him trapped, utterly and completely, broke through his anger. He let her go, sitting heavily in the other chair. Vera breathed a sigh of relief, and he wished he could take pleasure in the fact that his rage hadn’t left her as unmoved as she pretended. But all he cared about now was to know the extent of his ruin. “What do you want from me?”

“Firstly, you’ll hand in your notice. Tonight. I’ll put up at the pub in the village.”

“And what reason do I give?” It was the only straw left to him to grasp at. If he could only play for a little time…

“You don’t need a reason. Just tell them that you’re going. And then tomorrow we head back to London.”

Bates closed his eyes. All he could see was Anna. Anna whom he loved with every good thing that was in him; Anna whose life would be ruined if this story got out. Anna whom he had never deserved in the first place.

Vera was still talking. “We’ll stay in your mother’s house for the time being, until we get ourselves sorted. And in case you’re wondering, whatever my future plans may be, they will involve you.” She got to her feet, looking down at him. He was defeated; broken. And she knew it. “I’ll show myself out. Be ready first thing in the morning.”

She left him there, filled with despair and hating himself for letting things get this far.


	47. Mr. Bates's Wife

_November 1916_

Anna watched, frozen in place, as Mr. Bates limped down the hallway next to his wife as Mrs. Hughes led them to her sitting room. _She_ walked as though she owned the place.

As long as they were in sight, Anna maintained her composure. She hadn’t had trouble doing so in the face of Mr. Bates’s wife—that harridan, with her superior smirk, was no threat to Anna, and they both knew it. The knowledge had helped her stay calm and proud in the face of this woman who wanted to see her brought down and humbled. But now that he had gone with her, into a room alone with the door closed, now nausea gripped Anna’s stomach and turned her knees to jelly. She groped for the back of a chair to hold herself up.

Ethel had turned and left, and Anna was glad of it. Anything Ethel had to say, whether encouragement or censure, would cheapen what Anna felt for Mr. Bates and the life they were trying to build together. And build it they would! Mr. Bates would deal with his wife, he would send her away, and they would go on to be happy, to make all those dreams they had talked of come true. Anna couldn’t believe anything less of him, despite the little voice in her heart that wondered, if it was so easy, why he hadn’t done it already?

She wanted money. It must be that; what else could she want?

Letting go of the chair, Anna moved briskly out of the room toward the stairs. She couldn’t stay standing there, as though she was waiting, as though she was wondering just what they might have to talk about … what memories they shared … what their wedding had been like … if he had kissed her the way he kissed Anna, such hunger in his eyes. Was she trying to remind him of everything they had been to one another? It was difficult to imagine the hard, cold woman who had sat so upright in that chair as a passionate wife, deeply in love with her husband, but Anna couldn’t imagine Mr. Bates settling for less than that.

All these years, she had told herself it didn’t matter that he had been married before; that she wasn’t curious, wasn’t jealous of his feelings, wasn’t envious of the other woman who had already had everything Anna wanted. But—

Anna stopped, leaning her head against the wall. She took a deep breath and let it out before admitting to herself that she was curious. And she was jealous of any lingering feelings Mr. Bates might have for her. And she did envy this other woman who bore his name for having achieved so easily everything Anna could only dream about.

A tear trickled down her cheek before she could blink it back. It had never occurred to her to wonder if Mr. Bates was worth waiting for and working for—he was. But she was so tired of every step forward feeling as though she was being buffeted back by this horrible superior woman who right at this moment was here in Anna’s home, the only home she had, and being feted with tea in the housekeeper’s own study. For a breath she was angry with Mrs. Hughes for her generosity, for allowing her the respect of privacy, before she reminded herself that the courtesy was for Mr. Bates, not for his wife, and that such a deeply private person as he was had already suffered just by knowing that his wife was here, reminding all of them that he wasn’t yet a free man and had offered for Anna’s hand despite his married state.

Anna fiercely wiped the tear away. He wouldn’t have asked her to marry him if he hadn’t been sure he could secure the divorce, she told herself firmly. No doubt he was downstairs finalizing the details right now, and his wife had only been trying to make Anna angry and unhappy. Well, Anna wouldn’t allow that. She trusted Mr. Bates with everything that was in her, and she knew he would see it all come right.

Squaring her shoulders, she continued up the stairs.


	48. Doing the Right Thing

_November 1916_

For a long time after Vera left, Bates just sat there, stunned. His mind was empty—as though the same blow to the chest that had taken his breath away had also taken his thoughts. Slowly, feeling an ache in every muscle, he stood. His hand shook on the cane like a much older man’s.

What to do? Not in the long term—he would accede to Vera’s demands, as she had known he would. He owed Lord Grantham too much to allow his personal life to be the match that set fire to a scandal that would harm his lordship’s family so grievously. But in the short term, should he tell his lordship immediately, or wait until later in the day? Bates couldn’t even think of Anna. Even her name was painful to him when his thoughts brushed against it. That was too big to be dealt with straight away.

Belatedly, he remembered some shirts he had meant to take up to his lordship’s room, and fetched them from the laundry, taking pleasure in carrying out his duties, even for what would doubtless be the last time. He was glad most people were busy now, and he ran into no one. He didn’t know if he could have spoken. At the base of the stairs he paused, the enormity of what he was about to lose washing over him. Bates was hard put not to cry. His usual control was slipping from his grasp in the face of his damnable helplessness.

Bates was perilously close to losing the battle for control when he heard his name called and turned to see Mrs. Hughes coming down the hallway toward him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He gritted his teeth against the impulse to unburden himself to this motherly woman he had come to respect. “Oh, yes,” he said instead.

She came closer, speaking softly. “Because … there are plenty of people here who’d like to help you. That is, if you need help. You’re very highly valued in this house, Mr. Bates. By all of us.”

Her sympathy and support somehow made it easier to pull himself together and face what he needed to do. If he was valued, it was as the man he had chosen to be, and that man would do what was needed to spare those he cared about the pain that Vera had threatened to bring to them. “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. If that is true, it will be of great comfort in the days to come.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then he turned and looked up the stairs, resolutely beginning the climb. He left Mrs. Hughes looking after him, and regretted that he was unable to express what her words had truly meant to him.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
In the end, he determined to wait until he was undressing his lordship after dinner to break the news. Perhaps it would have been better to have spoken earlier in the day … but he couldn’t talk to Anna until the last possible minute. He couldn’t bear to see her after he’d told her. And if he spoke to his lordship before nightfall, news would trickle down and Anna would hear of it from someone else, which Bates could not allow.

“My lord.”

“Yes, Bates, what is it?”

“I … have some unfortunate news.”

Lord Grantham turned his full attention on him, startled. “Of what sort?”

“My wife was here today. She has— Her situation has altered, and she requires me to go and live with her.”

“What?”

Best to get it over quickly. “I will be leaving Downton with my wife in the morning. I am sorry, my lord.”

“Sorry? Bates, when you first came here, I fought to keep you. Everyone was against me! Everyone. From her ladyship to Carson. They thought I was mad.” He had rarely seen his lordship so angry … but even in the face of the anger, Bates couldn’t see either telling Lord Grantham about Vera’s threat, or allowing the threat to come to fruition. There was a sense of calm in the knowledge that he was doing the right thing. Lord Grantham continued, “But I said to them, ‘after all that we’ve been through together, Bates and I, I owe him my loyalty’!”

“I appreciate that, my lord, but—“

“But what? But loyalty doesn’t matter to you!”

That stung, when it was loyalty that drove his actions. His lordship didn’t know that, however, and couldn’t. “It does matter, my lord.”

“Not enough to make you change your mind. Not even enough to make you stay until I’ve found a replacement.”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t take any more money from me,” his lordship said savagely. “You leave empty-handed.”

The old Bates, deep within, was spitefully glad of that. Less for Vera to get her hands on, then. “I don’t want money, my lord.” It was growing more difficult to keep his voice under control. He hated disappointing this man who had proven his own loyalty to Bates time and again. He’d been the best friend Bates had ever had, despite the difference in their stations.

They stared at each other for a moment, then Lord Grantham looked away. In a quieter tone, he said, “I’m sorry, Bates, that was a low shot. Of course you can have whatever is owing to you.” He ripped off his vest, throwing it to the floor. “I thought we were friends, that’s all.” Bates pressed his lips together, trying to keep his composure. “I thought we’d crossed the ‘great divide’ successfully.” He sighed. “Well, I’ve had my say. It’s your life. But you’ve disappointed me, Bates. I cannot remember being more disappointed in any man.”

That was the greatest pain of all, to know that not only did he have to leave behind this life he so loved—Anna, whispered his mind—but he had to burn this bridge, as well, and walk away knowing he had left the poorest possible impression on someone he respected and cared about as deeply as he ever had anyone. He accepted Lord Grantham’s curt, unhappy dismissal and left his lordship’s dressing room for the last time.

Later, there would be time to rail against fate, and Vera, and to weep for everything he was ripping himself away from. Now, he had to speak to Anna, and he would need every ounce of energy he had remaining to do so.


	49. The Only Ruin That I Recognize

_November 1916_

It had been a long day, during which Mr. Bates had very obviously been avoiding her. Anna was burning with curiosity to know what he and his wife had talked about that morning. It couldn’t have been anything nice, not from the blank, unmoving expression on his face. He hadn’t looked like that since he first came, when he didn’t know any of them.

She was waiting at the table for him when he came down from undressing his lordship for the night. His steps on the stairs were heavy and slow. He seemed to have aged five years in the course of the day. Anna stood at his approach, prepared to put herself in front of him to force him to speak to her, but it wasn’t necessary.

“Come outside,” he said hoarsely.

“Of course.” She followed him, not noticing that Mrs. Hughes was standing in the doorway of her sitting room, watching them both with sympathy in her eyes.

Once in the courtyard, he looked up at the stars, not speaking. Anna put her hand on his sleeve, feeling the muscles of his upper arm tighten at her touch. “Mr. Bates?” Then, softly, for the first time, she tried, “John?”

He looked down at her, startled. If Anna hadn’t already known something was wrong, she would have known it now from the look in his expressive eyes. They were dark, closed off—and no matter what the circumstances, he had never closed his eyes off from her before. She had always been able to see something of what he was thinking and feeling in them.

“Tomorrow morning my wife is coming to fetch me. I will be leaving Downton at that time.”

Whatever she had expected him to say, it wasn’t that. “What?” she whispered.

“I am leaving Downton with my wife. First thing tomorrow.”

The words were hard. Uncompromising. “Leaving Downton? Does … does his lordship know?”

“I’ve just told him.” A spasm of pain cracked the set marble of his face, but only briefly.

Anna’s fingers curled into the fabric of his coat sleeve, holding him there, holding herself up. “But—what about me?”

“That was a—“ He stopped, taking a deep breath. “I made a—“ A muscle worked in his jaw. He pressed his lips together, then finished, “I’m sorry, that can never be.” He started walking past her, pulling his sleeve out of her grasp.

She stood there, stunned, feeling as though the breath had been knocked out of her. How could Mr. Bates be going back to that horrible woman, who had already been the cause of his going to jail? Well, Anna wasn’t going to give up so easily, whatever he might think. Didn’t he know how much she loved him? How much she needed him? What would her life be, without him?

Hurrying after him, she caught his sleeve again, forcing him to turn to look at her. Desperately, she said, “I don’t believe it! You say my life is over, and your wife will collect you first thing, and that’s it? Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Only Mr. Carson. And Mrs. Hughes. The others can find out when I’ve gone.” His voice nearly broke on the last word.

He turned again, walking away from her, but this time Anna kept her hold on his arm, keeping pace with him, talking rapidly to try to prevent him from making the worst mistake of both their lives. “I know you’ve not told me the real reason.”

“You’re wrong.” Now he stopped, looking at her, but he might have been a stranger for all the coldness in his face. “Vera has reminded me that I’m a married man. I must give my vows another chance. I had no right to involve you in my life.” He moved again, turning away as he finished the last sentence as though he couldn’t face her while he said it. And then she knew, as surely as if she had been a fly on the wall. Vera had something on him, or had threatened to harm Anna somehow. Whatever this was, it was hurting him so deeply he had retreated into the shell he’d hidden in when he first arrived.

“Yes, but you see, that’s just what I don’t agree with! You had every right.” She made him stop again, trying to hold him there, to make him look, really look, at her, to see that she understood better than he thought she did. “I know you. You’re doing something gallant here, making a sacrifice for my honour, but I don’t want you to.” He started to speak, glancing up toward the stars, but she could tell his control was slipping. There was grief in his face now, and Anna thought maybe she might be reaching him. “I don’t care! Don’t you understand? I don’t care what people say. I’d live in sin with you.” Mr. Bates started past her again and Anna hurried to keep in front of him. If she could only keep talking, get him to hear what she was saying, to believe she meant it … “If she’s threatening to ruin me, then let her! It’s nothing to me. The only ruin that I recognize is to be without you.” It was her last try; tears were threatening to overwhelm her, and she was losing him. She could see it in the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Forget me, and be happy. Please.” His voice shook.

“I couldn’t! Not ever.” Didn’t he understand? She loved him in a way that only comes ‘round once in a lifetime. He was everything to her. How could he think she could ever be happy when half of her heart, half of her soul, was missing?

He was looking at her now, but she had lost. He had control of himself again. “You should. And you must. I am nothing.”

This time when he went by, she couldn’t follow him. She couldn’t move. She could barely stand for the grief that filled her. Much as she wanted to run after him, to beg and plead and try to make him tell her why he was doing this, she had no more strength to do it. Tears took her.


	50. Picking Up and Leaving

_November 1916_

His valise stood open on the bed. Efficiently, having had all too much practice at picking up and leaving, Bates folded clothes and laid them inside. That was the easy part. Harder would be the other possessions he had acquired during his stay here in this comfortable room at the top of Downton Abbey.

Two hours ago, this task would have been impossible. Each item put away would have brought him to tears. But now the worst was over—he had spoken to Lord Grantham, to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes … to Anna. He had made the break as cleanly and sharply as he could; he had willingly cost himself the respect and affection of those he had come to regard as family to preserve their happiness. With the decision made and the difficult conversations behind him, he felt calm and able to look ahead to his future. It was bleak enough. But it was bleak by his own decision, and he wouldn’t have to see the Granthams—and Anna—dragged through the mud because of his poor choice of a wife.

He took a stack of handkerchiefs from a drawer. Anna had monogrammed them for him two Christmases ago. Bates couldn’t help but smile remembering how she had teased him trying to find out his middle name to complete the set of initials. So all the handkerchiefs had a big space between the J and the B, so she could add the initial if he ever told her what it was. Now those spaces would stay blank forever.

Probably he shouldn’t even bring them. Vera would know where they came from, and she would give him no peace until he got rid of them. The same was probably true of the volume of Shelley Anna had given him, and of the worn bookmark embroidered with tulips that he had kept all this time. He stood for a moment, indecisive, then put the bookmark into the book, and the book into the valise on top of the handkerchiefs. Vera could command him to leave Downton and put this life behind him, but she could not control his heart. And if she thought they would be having a real marriage after this, she was badly mistaken. He couldn’t imagine touching her again, not for any reason … not even if Anna had never brightened his life the way she had. What he had shared with Vera died long before he confessed to her crime—and his time incarcerated had paid much of the debt he owed her. There was nothing left between them but a legal tie he saw no way to get out of and the blackmail she had chosen to use.

What could have happened with Pamuk? Had he been with Lady Mary before he died? Where did Anna come into the story? He would never know those answers now. Not that it was important that he did, but he admitted to being curious about it.

He kept thinking of Anna. Was it possible to go five minutes without thinking of her? It hadn’t been, not for a long time … and Bates wasn’t certain it ever would be again. And now, now that he had paused in the busy work he had been using to keep the memory at bay, he saw her face again, her chin quivering as she tried so hard to hold back her tears. If she had known how very much he had wanted to take her in his arms right then, to make foolish promises he couldn’t keep, she would never have let him go. Part of him wished she hadn’t. The generosity of her offer to live in sin with him made him smile even now. He had been touched by her bravery, but he hadn’t been tempted by it. He might have been happy living that way, but Anna was too upright to do so. Part of Bates wondered if he ought to have told her what Vera had threatened him with … but what good would it have done? Anna couldn’t have made the truth go away, and no one could soften the impact on Lady Mary’s prospects and the reputation of the entire family if it did get out.

Closing the valise, he locked it and set it near the door so it would be handy when he was ready to leave in the morning. Hopefully Vera would arrive early enough that no one else would be about, so he could slip out unnoticed. She would want him to suffer, he was sure, but she would also be concerned that the more time he spent at Downton the more likely he was to find some way to avoid or delay her threats. If only he could! Then he wouldn’t have had to break Anna’s heart.

The sound of her sobs as he walked away from her would haunt him as he lay alone at night. She was young, he told himself desperately. What she felt would pass; she would find someone younger and more worthy of her. In time she would forget and be happy.

Never mind that in all the time he had known her, she had never wavered in any facet of her character. Never mind that she had stood up for him and believed in him despite all evidence to the contrary, including his own confession. Never mind that he and she had been connected from the beginning, finding joy in each other’s company so naturally. Never mind the sweetness of her lips when she had kissed him. Never mind the despair that filled him at the idea of her kissing someone else. Never mind that she belonged with him, to him. Despite all those things, she had to find a way to be happy … because he could not bear to live knowing she was as miserable as he was. It was hard enough to contemplate leaving here and never so much as glimpsing her again—if he thought that she truly would never find happiness, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

Savagely, he wished Vera had come for him tonight. If it had to be done, he might as well have it finished as soon as possible. Before he lost his nerve and couldn’t do it at all.


	51. One Last Moment

_November 1916_

Anna had been hovering near the window all morning. She had gotten up as early as she dared, hurrying through a quickly sliced piece of bread in the kitchen to avoid being anywhere near the servants’ hall when Mr. Bates came down. Part of her wanted to be there, to make one last-ditch effort to beg him to stay … but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. He had made up his mind, and no one was more stubborn. Not even Anna herself.

So instead she’d come upstairs as soon as she’d choked down the breakfast she hadn’t really had the stomach for in the first place. And she waited near the window, not because she wanted to see him going away—but because she had to. The end of all her dreams wouldn’t feel real to her unless she actually watched him go. She’d done her weeping last night; she had no more tears to cry.

And … there it was. The cart. Vera sat in it, upright. No doubt she was smirking, Anna thought. She must be proud of herself, making him leave everything he cared about. Part of Anna didn’t understand—if the woman truly loved Mr. Bates, why not let him go and be happy? It’s what Anna would have done, if she loved him and he loved someone else. But another part of her understood the idea of loving someone enough to want to hold them to you, no matter what it took. She tried to quash that part; she didn’t want to admit it was there, even to herself.

Of course, all that assumed that Vera actually loved him … but if she didn’t, why not just take his money? Why be so upset that he had found himself someone else to love? Perhaps she was missing something, but Anna felt certain there was love there still, buried deep in the other woman’s heart. Twisted love, but love all the same.

Mr. Bates was sitting turned away from his wife. He had glanced back at the start, briefly. He would never have seen Anna, here amidst all the many windows of Downton, much as she had wanted him to. For one last moment, she had wanted to feel that connection between them … but he was facing away from her now, and her last chance was gone.

The cart disappeared over the horizon, and with a tired sigh Anna rested her forehead against the windowframe. She hadn’t slept last night, not a wink. And she would have to go on now, doing her job the same as always, with whatever sleep she could get while she missed him with every heartbeat—and without any respite downstairs, where she’d be expecting to see him ‘round every corner.

“Anna.”

The housekeeper’s voice was kind but firm, and Anna turned around guiltily. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hughes, I’ll get right to—“

Mrs. Hughes came toward her, raising a hand. “Of course you will. No one could accuse you of shirking. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it, then?” Anna asked as the housekeeper paused, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s … Mr. Bates. Anna, I hope you don’t think … He had his reasons.”

“Did he talk to you?”

“Not … exactly, no. But I don’t want you to think harshly of him.”

“I don’t, Mrs. Hughes. I know him—I know how he thinks. His wife must have threatened him with something, some knowledge that she held that he thinks would have hurt me. He wouldn’t say, when I asked him about it, but he would never have left me otherwise.” She’d thought the tears were dry, but they stung the backs of her eyes as her voice rose.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. “Yes, that’s it.”

Anna frowned. How did the housekeeper know? But if Mrs. Hughes didn’t want to say, she wouldn’t. For a moment, Anna wondered how different her life might be if she weren’t surrounded by so many stubborn people.

“Anna, will you be all right?”

“I can bear it, Mrs. Hughes. I have to, don’t I?” She pressed her lips together against the tears that threatened again. “Just … don’t tell me it’ll get easier with time. Or that I’m young yet and there might be someone else someday. Or that I’m better off without him.”

“Oh, no, my dear. I wouldn’t dream of saying any of those things. Pernicious twaddle spouted by fools. And … if there’s ever any way I can help him, you can be sure I will. Take some time, Anna. Go outside, take a walk, get away from Downton for a bit. It’ll do you more good than you think.” With a sympathetic look, Mrs. Hughes turned and left, the keys at her belt jingling as she went.

Anna headed for her room to get her coat. While her instinct would have been to drown herself in work, perhaps Mrs. Hughes was right and a change of scene would help get her through the transition. She was glad the housekeeper had come to talk to her; her heavy heart felt lighter for knowing that someone else believed in him.


	52. I Couldn't Wish It Away

_December 1916_

Anna was glad Lady Mary was early tonight. Her body ached all over from the strain of holding herself together, and all she wanted to do was find her own bed, blow out the candle, and be alone in the dark and the silence, where it was easier. Around people, she couldn’t seem to force her thoughts away from Mr. Bates’s absence.

Lady Mary was staring into the glass, lost in her own reverie. She looked up when Anna came in. “Oh, good there you—Anna? What on earth—Ah. It’s Bates, isn’t it?” She got up from her stool and came toward Anna with her hands outstretched. “Tell me what happened. Papa won’t speak of it. He looks as miserable as you do.”

“He—“ To her horror, Anna heard her voice quiver, and she stopped, trying to keep the tears back. “He left. With his—his wife.”

“That much I had heard. But why? He loved you, didn’t he?”

Anna could only nod; she didn’t trust her voice if she tried to speak.

“Was there something wrong with her, some reason he gave?”

This was easier. Anna was still angry, with Mr. Bates and with his wife, and anger was easier to bear in front of others. “He told me only that he had to give his vows another chance. But that isn’t why. I know it isn’t.”

Lady Mary raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, my lady. I’m as sure as anyone can be. He loves me.”

“Then what would have made him go with her?”

“I think …” Anna shook her head. “The only thing that makes sense to me is that she threatened him, promised to ruin me or do something else to me, and he left to protect me. He’s been trying to protect me for four years. For all the good it’s done,” she added bitterly.

“What good has it done?” Lady Mary’s tone was matter-of-fact, but her face was unusually soft as she bent her head slightly to look Anna in the eye. “Would you wish he had never come, even after everything that’s happened?”

Anna bit her lip. She had forgotten, for the moment, that Lady Mary’s situation was as dire as hers—more so, since Mr. Matthew was at war, in danger every hour. “No,” she said softly. “I couldn’t wish it away, no matter what happened. It’s worth it to have known love, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes I’ve wondered. But then, I remember … certain moments, and I realize I wouldn’t trade them for anything.” Lady Mary reached out and squeezed Anna’s shoulder. “You taught me that, you know, that what’s important is the love, even when it’s hopeless. You can’t falter on me now or I’ll be as bad as Edith, locked in a lonely old spinsterhood.” She gave a little smile.

The unexpected kindness, the undeniable friendship, hit Anna in a raw spot, and the tears burst through unbidden. She lifted her apron to her face and wept, her shoulders shaking, as Lady Mary rubbed her back. When she was cried out, Anna lifted her face. “I am so sorry, my lady.”

“Don’t be. Occasionally I forget that real emotion is allowed—for either of us. Anna … if there’s ever anything I can do, any way I can help you … find your way back to Bates, I hope you’ll tell me.”

“My lady,” Anna protested, “you needn’t make such a generous offer.”

“I know I needn’t, but I would like to. You –I owe you my reputation, you know that.” The specter of the Turkish gentleman hung between them for a moment, a subject they never touched on, by mutual agreement. “More than that—I would like to be able to help someone. So far all this money and position has been fairly useless. It would be nice to make it useful for a change. And who better to use it for than you?”

“Thank you.”

“No, Anna, thank you. Sometimes I feel—“ Lady Mary caught herself, and her face returned to its more typical marble stillness. “No matter. You deserve to be happy, if anyone does. Let’s leave it at that.”

Anna, recognizing that there were certain barriers of emotion beyond which Lady Mary could not trust herself, simply nodded, and got busy with her nightly duties. They didn’t talk more after that, for which she was grateful, because she felt more tears hovering just behind her eyes, and she wanted to get back to her room before they began to fall.


	53. Let Me See the Tiger

_December 1916_

The first night was the worst. It was the one when Anna allowed herself to dwell on the ruin of all her hopes and dreams, to try to think about what her future would be like without Mr. Bates in it. Even in the privacy of her thoughts, she couldn’t think of him as “John” now. She never had before, and had only just begun to when his wife appeared to snatch him away. But what was a name, anyway? It was his eyes she missed, his smiles, the warmth of him next to her at the table, the understanding looks that felt like an embrace.

Anna had thought she’d cried all the tears she could hold, but that night disabused her of that notion. She wept silently all night, the bed shaking beneath her. And in the morning she was almost useless for her work. Mrs. Hughes looked at her kindly, but with a warning that she’d have to find some way to move on.

The day was all right, all things considered. Much as she missed him, there was at least something to do, or someone to talk to, all the time. But night fell again, and again she found herself in bed, staring into the dark, listening to Ethel’s snores, and mourning her loss.

This will never do, she thought firmly. Her mother had always said tears were a treat, not a meal.

There was no question of thinking of anything other than Mr. Bates, in the dark hours while she tried to drop off to sleep. But if she couldn’t think of the reality of his loss, and she was too practical to let herself pretend any happy endings, she would have to think of the past, instead. Settling more comfortably deep into the pillows, Anna thought back to that first day, to coming down the stairs and seeing him standing there. “I’m John Bates, the new valet,” he had said. And she had reached to shake his hand.

From there, she set herself to recalling every moment she could think of, every word, every glance, from the very beginning. There had been so many, it would take her a lot of nights to get through them all, she thought with some relief. And once she’d come back to the present again, well, she’d see then how to get through the nights knowing she would, in all likelihood, never see him again.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The first few days were the worst, from the sheer lack of anything to do. At Downton, Bates had been busy most of the day, and in the odd times that he wasn’t there was always someone to talk to, something going on. In his mother’s house, there was only Vera, who had nothing to say he hadn’t heard a hundred times before. She seemed to think they were going to lay back and spend his mother’s money, resuming many of their old habits in the process.

As night fell the first night, she poured them drinks from a bottle of Scotch, pushing one across the table to Bates. He pushed it back.

“No?” she asked. There was a smirk on those red lips of hers as she pushed it across again.

“Not interested, Vera. Not anymore.” He wasn’t. For Bates, the draw of the drink had been the way it dulled the edge of his self-loathing and made his anger seem righteous and justified. In prison, without the drink, he’d had to learn to deal with his self-loathing on his own. Once he had learned that control, the anger dissipated, and with it, any desire for the effects of alcohol on his body and mind. The smell of it now, coupled with Vera’s arch look—so coarse and bawdy in comparison with Anna’s more spritely and innocent version—turned his stomach.

“You’re not going to be one of those boring blokes who’s too good to take a drink, are you, Jack?” She sighed heavily. “It’s quite tiresome.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. Give me a divorce, and I’ll be happy to get out of your way.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen, so you can just forget about it.” She reached out, running one long finger around his wrist. “There are other ways to pass the time.”

He jerked his arm away from her. “Not a chance.”

She pouted at him in a way he used to find beguiling, long ago. “Not even for old times’ sake?”

“I don’t think there’s much about our old times that are worth celebrating.”

“Then don’t celebrate.” She was hissing now, leaning across the table with her face very close to his, her cleavage on display before him. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you, Jack? For taking you away from your precious little Anna? Wonder who else has his eye on that pale little plum? Who will she ripen and drop for now that you’re not there to catch her?”

He had expected something like this, and he remained unmoved. After all, he hoped Anna would find someone else more worthy of her—or, at least, so he told himself.

“Don’t you hate me for saying such foul things? Come on, let me see the tiger.”

Her words and actions brought back so many memories of the way it had been between them. Vera had loved provoking him to anger, having him take her roughly, just this side of violently. And using her that way had given him a kind of release, as well. But he wasn’t proud of that time, and was far from aroused by the thought of it. Bates stood up. “I’m going to sleep. I’ve set up a cot in the parlor. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Vera had watched him go with a look in her eye that said she didn’t think she was defeated yet.

After a few days of this, Bates had decided to do what he had intended to do anyway—clean the house thoroughly and get it ready for eventual rental or sale. At least this way, he told himself, he could pretend occasionally that he was here working toward a future with Anna, the way he had hoped to be. Vera had tried her wiles on him time and again, and had grown bored and irritated with his refusal to be tempted. Last night she had gone out after supper, tarted up the way he remembered. Let her, he thought. The more she went out the better the chance she might find someone else and set him free.


	54. His Best Friend

_December 1916_

Anna had just come downstairs from dressing Lady Mary for her morning ride when Mrs. Hughes came hurrying down the hall toward her. “You’re wanted in his lordship’s study, straight away,” the housekeeper said breathlessly. Anna couldn’t help thinking of Mr. Bates. Had Lord Grantham heard something about him that he wanted to share with her? What could it be? “His lordship is waiting, Anna,” Mrs. Hughes said sternly, when Anna didn’t move.

“Yes, of course.” She got her feet started, climbing back up the stairs she had just descended. At the door of the study, she paused, trying to still the pounding of her heart, before knocking.

“Come in,” his lordship called. He was seated at his desk, and didn’t look up immediately as she came in. “I’m sorry, just finishing this one last letter,” he said.

“Yes, milord.” Anna waited patiently, sure now that whatever his lordship wanted, it had nothing to do with Mr. Bates. She tried to push down the disappointment she felt.

At last, he finished his letter and turned to her. “You may be wondering why I asked to see you.”

“Yes, milord.”

“I wanted to ask … how are you, Anna?”

She wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “How am I, your lordship?”

“Yes. That whole mess with Bates was difficult for all of us, but I understand worse for you than for most.”

Anna swallowed hard, trying to decide how to handle this unexpected line of conversation. “I’m all right, your lordship.”

“Are you? Because I wouldn’t be.” Anna couldn’t help thinking of how much he sounded like Lady Mary. Most would have said that the eldest Crawley daughter was more like her mother, but there was more of his lordship there than Lady Mary was usually given credit for. This sudden bluntness of speech, for one thing. “In your shoes, I imagine I would be quite angry.”

“No, milord. I … I think there was more to Mr. Bates’ departure than he was willing to share with us.”

“Yes, so I’ve been told.” He frowned.

‘Told’? Anna wondered who had been telling his lordship about Mr. Bates’s motives. “Have you heard from him, sir?” she asked, unable to contain her eagerness.

“No, I’m afraid not. Have you?” There were signs of a like eagerness in his lordship’s eyes, and Anna wished, not for the first time, that she knew what ties bound Mr. Bates and the Earl of Grantham together.

She shook her head.

“I imagine he’s in London, at his mother’s house,” his lordship said, almost to himself.

“Probably so. He didn’t tell me where he was going.”

“Anna, I hope you don’t mind my asking—this departure of his, it’s so unlike the Bates I have always known, I need to … I want to be sure I am looking at it, at him, in the right way, if that makes any sense at all.”

“Of course, milord. Whatever I can answer, I’ll be happy to.”

“Did you know, about his wife?”

“Yes. He told me a long time ago that he wasn’t a free man. There was never any pretense about that.”

Lord Grantham nodded, looking relieved. “And you were the one who discovered the truth about his jail sentence. What made you so certain that you went looking for those answers?”

“I … I just know Mr. Bates, milord. I knew—well, if I may be honest with you, I didn’t know if the man he was then could have committed such a theft, but I know how he thinks, and if he committed a crime of such a petty nature, he would have done it … better.” She blushed. “That must sound uncharitable toward him.”

“Not at all.” His lordship chuckled. “I agree with you—stealing the regimental silver never sounded like the Bates I know. A crime of anger, or a crime for great gain, would have seemed more like him.”

“Exactly!” Anna said, glad to know they shared that view of Mr. Bates, before realizing what she had agreed to and blushing even harder. What must his lordship think of her, that she could think such things about a man she loved and was willing to marry?

“If you were to see him again, Anna, would you forgive him for what he did, leaving you that way?”

“Yes, sir,” she said immediately. “I’ve forgiven him already.”

“And you would take him back?”

Anna nodded. “With all my heart. Would you, milord?” She couldn’t help the question; it just tumbled out of its own volition.

“I—“ He blinked, his eyes suspiciously wet, and appeared to suddenly realize he was having this conversation with a servant. “I would have to think about it.” The impersonal mask of the Earl came down over his face, and he nodded at Anna. “Thank you for your candor, Anna.”

“Thank you for asking, your lordship.”

He dismissed her, turning back to his desk, and she left the room, her heart aching for his lordship, who had lost his best friend just as Anna had.


	55. Writing Such a Letter

_December 1916_

Bates dipped a rag into the bucket and went back to scrubbing the kitchen wall. His mother had been a fine housekeeper, but she had slowed down toward the end, and there was quite a bit of work to be done. He was grateful for it—it kept him busy and made sure he was too tired to think when he went to bed at night.

Above his head he could hear the bedframe creak as Vera stirred, finally. She had taken to going out at night, just like the old days, once she had found he was immovable in his resolve to have as little to do with her as possible. Before she gave up, she’d attempted every set of wiles at her disposal, trying to play on old memories to stir something within him. But those memories worked counter to Vera’s desires: they filled him with disgust. He hated the man he had been, and he pitied the woman she still was. And pity was no emotion Vera had ever enjoyed having aimed at her.

Scrubbing the wall made him think of Anna. Of course, breathing made him think of Anna. He longed for just a moment with her, just a glimpse. For a mad moment the other night, he had thought of finding somewhere with a telephone and ringing Downton, asking for Anna, just to hear her voice saying “Hello”. But he couldn’t. He had made a clean break—it was best for her if it stayed that way. Much as he hated to imagine her thinking badly of him, he hoped she did. If she was angry, or disappointed, or so hurt she could hardly bear to remember him … No matter the devastation he felt at the idea, if it made it easier for her to move on, he hoped for it. Or so he told himself, trying to make himself believe it.

As he worked, he began yet another letter to her in his head. _Dear Anna, Did I say before that I missed you as I would miss my arm? Because that doesn’t come near the truth. I miss you as I would miss my heart if it were torn from my chest. I dream of you, I long for you, I think I hear your voice ‘round the corner only to find I have fooled myself yet again. You are constantly in my thoughts. You were right, you know. I left to spare your reputation, but not just yours. Others’ lives are at stake, as well, and I wish I could have told you. But you were better off not knowing, and you are better off without me. I hope you will find someone who will love you as I have, and will have as well the freedom and ability to give you what you deserve._

He did not hope that; much as he wanted to pretend he did, he really didn’t. She belonged with him, not with anyone else, and he wanted her here by his side with every breath. But he had burned that bridge as thoroughly as he could have. He imagined writing such a letter on paper—hurriedly while Vera was out or asleep—and posting it, and then it arriving at Downton and Anna tearing it up unread. He deserved no less.

Despite all his control, a tear rolled down his cheek.

“Crying? Again? For her?” Vera’s caustic voice sounded from the kitchen doorway. “Always this Anna of yours. She’s awfully pale; not nearly woman enough for you. You never used to be such a sap, Batesy.”

He reached into his pocket and dug out a handkerchief—one of the ones Anna had marked for him—wiping his eyes. “Wasn’t I? I should have been. Maybe things would have been better between us.”

“Things were good between us!” Vera argued. “We understood each other, you and I. I’ve never found that again. All these good-time Charlies … none of them has half your brains. Come on, Jack. Live a little!”

“I can’t, Vera. I’m not that man anymore. I have no desire to be. Can’t you understand that? I’ve changed.”

“Then change back. And fast.” She disappeared, the stairs creaking with her rather slow ascent, and he returned to the bucket of water and the half-cleaned wall in front of him.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The days at Downton had settled back into a routine. With the arrival of Mr. Lang, the replacement valet, it seemed as though Mr. Bates had never been there in the first place. Occasionally, Anna wondered if she had dreamed it all. And then she would walk into the servants’ hall and smile automatically toward his seat, expecting to see that answering smile, the light in his eyes that was for her alone. And pain would strike her heart anew when she saw his place empty, or, worse, another man in it.

It had been no dream, and the daily sense of life now as a thing to be endured was no dream, either.

The worst of it was knowing that she had no way to contact him. Yes, he might well be at his mother’s house, but a letter there would doubtless be intercepted by Vera. And if he wasn’t there? She had no way of finding him at all.

Yet she wrote to him constantly, inside her head, as the only way she had of talking to him. _Dear Mr. Bates, You can’t know what it’s like here without you. Mrs. Hughes sends her regards, and everyone misses you. None of them as much as I do. I told you this would be my ruin, and it has ruined my happiness once and for all. There is no one for me but you—there never will be. But I move forward because I know you wanted me to be happy, and I am trying. If I could ever get a real letter to you, I would tell you that I still don’t care what Vera threatened. I would leave here with you this very hour and never look back, if it meant no longer being parted from you. I wish you would come back; I know despite his anger, his lordship does, too. Mr. Lang, the new valet, is a nice gentleman, but he isn’t you._

“Anna?”

She met Lady Edith’s eyes in the glass and blinked away the hot tears that threatened. “Yes, my lady.” She opened a hairpin and began putting the other woman’s hair up in an elaborate style. Anna was grateful for the work, especially detailed work like this that kept her attention.

Lady Edith began to speak, then thought better of it. Anna appreciated the restraint; by now she’d heard pretty much the full spectrum of remarks, from O’Brien’s not-so-subtle gloating to William’s confusion to Mrs. Patmore’s rough sympathy. None of it bothered her overmuch. Even the pity in their eyes didn’t bother her … except for Lady Grantham’s. Because there was outrage in her pity, and condescension. Lady Grantham had never cared for Mr. Bates, and she thought the worst of him … and much less of Anna for loving him, no doubt. Not that Anna particularly cared what anyone else thought of her choices. There was no question in her mind that Mr. Bates would never have left if he hadn’t felt he had to.

As for everyone else, they could think what they liked. Anna imagined she would pity someone in her situation, wondering if they really knew the full story, thinking perhaps they had put their trust in the wrong place. But she knew she hadn’t misplaced her trust, not at all. She’d given it to a man who kept his own counsel, and acted in what he thought were others’ best interests. That had left her here alone, but it had given her so much during the time they’d been able to be together, she couldn’t regret a moment. She had loved—she did love—and that was a blessing in and of itself. Well worth having, however briefly. She believed that fiercely and with conviction.

She finished Lady Edith’s hair and left the room. Just before she entered the servants’ hall, Anna paused, preparing herself for him to not be there, and she sent up a little prayer that whatever needed sorting would be done someday, so that he could come back to her. Mr. Bates had left her little hope of that, but Anna wasn’t built for despair. As long as there was breath in her body, she would hope.


	56. Damaged

_December 1916_

Listlessly, Bates dragged his fork across the plate. Vera had never been a bad cook, and when they had first come here, she had made an effort with the meals. Now it was pretty much whatever she could dump in a pot. He felt he had little room to complain. So far she hadn’t poisoned the food—although he had worried for a few days after she sent him out to buy rat poison. From the venomous looks she gave him as they ate, it might have been a near thing.

He took a long drink of water, setting the glass down with a thump. Vera, on the other side of the table, mirrored his actions … although he knew the clear liquid in her glass was gin.

“Vera.”

“What?”

He sighed. “You’re miserable. I’m miserable. It’s obvious that there’s nothing between us any longer. Why can’t you just let me go?”

“I don’t want to.” She eyed him obstinately.

“I’ve never known you to act so contrarily to your own advantage … at least, not for such an extended period of time,” he amended, thinking of some of the foolish mistakes she had made impulsively, usually while drinking. “What benefit does my presence here possibly gain you?”

“I’m a respectable married woman. Mrs. John Bates.”

“You were that before.”

“Oh, yes, but then my husband was off somewhere else, like he was ashamed of me. Now he’s right here with me. It makes a difference, in how people treat you.”

“And how do people … treat you?”

She smiled. “Are you asking me if I’ve been unfaithful, Batesy? Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I don’t care if you are.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? Since you beat me to it, with your pale little Anna.”

He clenched his fist, then forced himself to relax it. “I have not been unfaithful to you, or disrespectful to her. I wouldn’t touch her in that way unless I knew I had the right to do so.”

“Well, aren’t you the romantic fool.” Vera leaned across the table, her eyes sparkling. “You’ve had that girl running all over London proving you innocent of theft, and got her down there pining over you at the big house, and you’ve never even popped her cork? Why, Jack … you’ve still got it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? Time was, you could set me off with just one of those wicked glances of yours. You know the ones.” She gave a little moan of remembered pleasure.

He looked away. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“You never used to find those sounds disgusting.”

“Well, I do now.”

She took a deep gulp of the gin. “You’ve forgotten how to have fun, Jack. Come on, drink up, we’ll go out.”

“Vera, it’s not going to happen! I don’t want your drinks, I don’t want to go out, I’m not going to sleep with you. All I want is a divorce, and I don’t understand why you won’t give me one.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Why don’t you make it easier on both of us and tell me what it is that you really want.”

She swirled the clear liquid around in her glass, then finished it off in one gulp. Her dark eyes were suddenly vulnerable as they met his. “Don’t you know? I want you. I want Jack Bates, who liked to have fun and didn’t take everything so damned seriously. Smartest man I ever met, and you knew it. You were strong, and sensual, and dark, and every day was a challenge. I want that man—I want my husband. And I’m not giving up until I get him.”

Bates closed his eyes. He hadn’t realized the depth of his crimes against this woman in front of him. The life he had rejected, the marriage he had thought damaged beyond repair, had actually made her happy. “Vera, Vera, Vera. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She stood up. “I don’t need your damned sympathy and your holier-than-thou looks.”

He shook his head. “Those are all I have to offer. You found something to like in that man, but I didn’t. I think he was a monster, and I won’t be him again. You and I were a poisonous combination, Vera. We brought out the worst in each other. But I’m done with the worst that’s in me.”

She leaned across the table toward him. “And I’m not, is that what you’re saying? Bloody right I’m not.” Vera bared her teeth in a sneer. “If you won’t give me what I want, I’ll find someone who will.”

“With my blessing. I hope you do.”

“Sap.” She spat the word, grabbing her coat and slamming the door behind her, leaving Bates to contemplate, with sorrow, the wreck he had made of their lives.


	57. He Means Well

_April 1917_

She’d been looking forward to a cup of tea all day. Anna sank into her chair with a sigh of relief, already imagining the hot, sweet liquid soothing her throat and soaking into her bones. It had been a long day filled with a lot of heavy cleaning, and she was tired enough to wish the young ladies would all just go to bed early for once.

Ethel sat down across from her, giving her a knowing look. “I’ve got something for you,” she said in her insolent way.

“You do?” Anna hated the instant leap of her pulse, the desperate hope that something might have come from Mr. Bates. Nothing was coming—she would have to get used to that idea, she told herself sternly.

“Gentleman brought it by for you this morning.” Ethel slid a little book across the table to Anna, who picked it up.

“ _Elizabeth and Her German Garden_?” That wouldn’t have been a choice made by Mr. Bates. Her heart sank despite her best efforts. “Who brought this?”

“It was Mr. Molesley,” Miss O’Brien put in, her eyes sharp on Anna, almost eager. Well, Anna wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction.

“Wasn’t that kind of him.” Anna couldn’t remember talking to Mr. Molesley about books, but she must have at some point. Recent weeks were something of a blur to her. If she were to be told she’d had a talk with Mr. Carson on the type of cheese the moon was made of, she wouldn’t be surprised. She flipped a few of the pages.

“Do you like it?” Ethel meant more than the book with her sly tone.

Anna refused to rise to the bait. Her personal feelings were her own; just because Ethel was anxious to be involved with someone and made sure everyone knew it didn’t mean she needed to know everyone else’s affairs. “I haven’t read it yet, so how would I know?”

“Are you going to read it?” Miss O’Brien asked.

“Probably not,” Anna admitted in a small whisper, staring at the book, thinking of Mr. Molesley’s kind face. How could she turn to someone like that when she had been loved by a man like Mr. Bates? His image was branded on her mind, on her heart. “If you’ll excuse me—“ Leaving her tea untouched, she got to her feet, remembering at the last moment to snatch up the book and bring it with her.

At the door, she was stopped by Miss O’Brien’s voice. “Anna.”

She turned to look, finding Miss O’Brien’s eyes fastened on her with a surprisingly kind expression.

“Let him down easy. He means well.”

“Yes, he does,” she whispered. “I wish …” And she left it at that as she hurried from the room before she lost all control.


	58. Just We Two

_April 1917_

Anna was having a good moment, her thoughts entirely occupied by how she was going to get a stain out of the dress Lady Mary intended to wear that evening. They were rare, these brief spaces where she could focus on the work and only the work, and she was humming a little to herself as she shut the door behind her.

As she was passing down the hallway, Mr. Molesley came out of a doorway. After exclamations of surprise on both sides, she smiled at him. “Hello, Mr. Molesley. What are you doing here?” It was politeness, merely—she kept walking without waiting for an answer.

He followed her down the hallway, saying, in his nervous way, “I asked inside and they said you were over in the laundry.”

She gestured to the dress over her arm. “Lady Mary wants to wear this tonight. I wasn’t sure it was done.” And it wasn’t, either. The stain was at the hemline, but it was still there and it might be obvious, she thought.

But Mr. Molesley was still talking. “I was really wondering if you’d had a chance to read that book.”

Book? Oh, yes, Ethel had given it to her, saying it was from Molesley. _Elizabeth and Her German Garden_ ; not exactly Anna’s taste. She firmly refused to think about what her taste actually was. There was no reason to go down that road right now; the last thing she needed was to hear that never-forgotten voice in her head reading poetry to her. With a little smile, she reminded Mr. Molesley, “You only gave it to me yesterday.”

“Of course! Of course.” He blushed a bit. “When you have read it,” he went on, “I hope we can exchange our views.”

Anna tried to steer him away from the direction he was moving in. He was a good man, but that door was closed and could not be opened. “That’d be nice. Perhaps we might bring some of the others in. We could have a sort of … reading club.”

His eyes widened—it was obviously not what he had hoped to hear—but ever polite, he nodded. “We could do that.” Anna thought maybe that would be the end of it, but he wasn’t ready to give up. She had to hand it to him—she wouldn’t have thought he had the firmness to keep pressing the point. “Or we could talk about it together, just we two.”

They were both silent for a moment as O’Brien went by, staring at them as she always stared at anything she thought might give her fuel for the fire.

Anna smiled, wanting to be nice to this fidgety man whom she rather liked, but was certainly no Mr. Bates. “Heavens. It’s later than I thought. I must get on.” She turned away from him toward the laundry, but the good moment had passed, and she wondered if the tears that were gathering would be good for the stain on the dress. They ought to be good for something … five months without him and they were still coming.

Had she given Mr. Molesley a second thought, she would have hoped he had received her message, but in the depth of her grief, she had forgotten his brief attempt at courtship before the stain was gone from the gown.


	59. Harder to Bear

_April 1917_

Sewing was a good task. It kept her mind busy, gauging the right spot to bring the needle through, admiring the tight, neat stitch left behind, holding the fabric just right to be certain the seam didn’t pucker. Not only did it keep Anna’s mind off Mr. Bates, if only for a little while, it gave her somewhere else to look when O’Brien brought Thomas into the servants’ hall to gloat over his newfound superiority. Anna privately suspected ‘soldier’ hadn’t suited Thomas any better than ‘servant’ had—he’d always been out for himself, and always would be.

It didn’t take Thomas long to get back to true form. He asked after William, and when told the other footman was training for the army, he said to Daisy, “I thought he might have died—for love of you.”

Daisy, to her credit, didn’t rise to the bait. “Don’t be nasty. Not as soon as you’re back.”

Thomas didn’t bother to respond to Daisy, moving on to insult Mr. Carson and be rude to Mrs. Hughes in his next two breaths. Anna kept her eyes on her sewing, wishing he had died on the battlefield instead of being wounded in the hand, and chastising herself for thinking such a horrible thing. No one deserved to die like that … not even Thomas.

In the brief silence between remarks, Anna could see Thomas watching Ethel, appraising her for what she use she could be, and Ethel returning the look boldly, not bothering to disguise her interest. Anna wondered if she should tell Ethel that Thomas wasn’t going to be interested in her that way. Of course, Ethel’s mania for seizing her chance was almost as strong as Thomas’s, if less cruel to those around her. Maybe they deserved each other. Still, in a battle for the upper hand between the two, Anna suspected Thomas would come out on top every time. A word in Ethel’s ear later couldn’t hurt, since it appeared that between Dr. Clarkson and Miss O’Brien, they were stuck with Thomas hanging about again.

Mr. Carson ducked in and out. To his credit, he didn’t glance in Thomas’s direction or acknowledge his presence, despite Miss O’Brien trying to force the confrontation.

And then, of course, it was Anna’s turn. She’d known he would get to her eventually, and had been bracing for it. Still, the stitch pulled to the side a bit.

“Where’s Mr. Bates?”

Anna didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him. It was left to Miss O’Brien to answer, “Gone. Replaced by Mr. Lang.”

“So not all the changes were bad,” Thomas murmured, turning his mocking blue eyes on Anna. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her composure, sewing steadily, although the stitches were crooked. Thomas chuckled, and he and O’Brien left the room together, leaving Anna to wish Mr. Bates had been there to stand up to Thomas, since clearly no one else would. She would have to be the one now, to make the remarks Mr. Bates would have made had he been here.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Later that night, just before dinner, Anna checked in with Mrs. Hughes, meaning to make sure that everything was set for the evening’s service—their first without any footmen at all.

“Is everything under control?” Mrs. Hughes asked.

“Mr. Lang seems a bit nervous,” Anna answered. ‘Nervous’ really didn’t cover it. Mr. Lang was acting as though he’d never waited at table in his life, and seemed petrified of the family. The poor man was shaking like a leaf, and Mr. Carson’s nerves and gruff attitude weren’t helping.

Mrs. Hughes didn’t seem concerned. She flapped a hand dismissively. “Stage fright.” Stopping in front of Anna, she ducked her head slightly to look better into Anna’s face and asked, “But what about you?”

“Oh, I’m a trooper.” Anna rather looked forward to the idea of helping with the dinner. It would be something interesting to do, and interesting things were distracting, and distraction was good. “And we can’t complain, can we? Not when you think what’s going on in France.” Poor lads, all of them. Anna hated to think of the war, and what was really happening in the trenches, but it was happening and couldn’t be forgotten.

“Still. A broken heart can be as painful as a broken limb.”

Anna had been waiting for the housekeeper’s concern to voice itself; she’d seen it coming in the troubled looks and the little gestures of sympathy. It was a relief to have it out in the open. She gathered herself up and stood a bit straighter, answering the way Mr. Bates might have done in her shoes, “Don’t feel sorry for me, Mrs. Hughes. I’m not.” It was the truth, as far as that went. She wasn’t sorry to have loved him … but she was very sorry that she hadn’t been able to stop him from letting his wife manipulate him. Given another chance, she wouldn’t let that happen again. But even if she never saw him again, he had given her a great gift, and she would treasure it. “I know what real love is, and there aren’t many who could say that.” Of all the people in Downton, only Lord and Lady Grantham seemed to know much about love, and she counted herself fortunate to have known even for a brief time the kind of love that they shared. “I’m one of the lucky ones,” she finished, although the quaver in her voice that she couldn’t suppress made her words sound weaker than she’d have liked. She meant it, but oh, it was lonely here without him.

Mrs. Hughes seemed to understand Anna’s intention, even if she didn’t quite believe the brave words. “If you say so,” she said kindly.

Anna nodded and turned away, before she could break down. She hurried into the nearest empty room, clenching her jaw to stifle the tears. Some moments the longing for him was so strong it was hard to bear. Resting her forehead against the closed door, she thought how strange it was that the sympathy of a friend was harder to bear than the insults of an enemy had been.


	60. Honesty

_April 1917_

It had been a very long evening, and Anna was more than ready to go to bed as she went to Lady Mary’s door. For all that the house seemed too quiet without Lady Sybil, at least it was one less person to dress and undress, Anna thought. Finding Lady Rosamund in Lady Mary’s room, Anna paused in the doorway. “Would you like me to come back later, my lady?”

“No, come in,” Lady Rosamund answered. “I was just leaving.” She gave Lady Mary a look, one of her smirks, and turned to go. Anna had never been fond of Lady Rosamund, who seemed to enjoy making trouble for the sheer joy of it. Not unlike Lady Edith, when you thought of it.

Anna closed the door, and Lady Mary gave a sigh of relief. “How’s Carson getting on?” she asked.

“Oh, much better, my lady. Mrs. Hughes is having a job keeping him in bed.”

Lady Mary chuckled. Anna began undoing the buttons down the back of the other woman’s dress, feeling the tension in Lady Mary’s body. “He gave me some advice, last night,” Lady Mary began.

“Oh, yes? Was it good advice?”

“It was about honesty. He thinks I should say what I really feel.”

Even that much was a great deal for Lady Mary to admit. Anna made light of it, to let Lady Mary back away from a difficult topic if she chose. “Sounds a bit wild for Mr. Carson.”

There was a long silence in response, before Lady Mary spoke again. “Do you think he’s right?”

“Well …” Anna considered her answer carefully. “They do say honesty’s the best policy.” She decided to take her own advice. “And I think you regret being honest less often than you regret telling lies.”

“Sometimes honesty can hurt more than concealment.”

There was no need to ask what Lady Mary meant; they both knew. “Yes, that’s true. But … where people are concerned, my lady … you never know if there will be another chance, do you?”

“No. I suppose you don’t.” Lady Mary sighed. “It’s something to think about, isn’t it?”

“It is that, my lady.” Anna knew the subject was closed. She hurried to finish undressing the other woman, trying not to think of the unsent letters she had written Mr. Bates in her mind. How was she to know if one of those mightn’t be the one to change his mind? Could she advise her lady to be honest if she herself was too afraid to do so? She left the room feeling tired both in body and in spirit.


	61. Not Going to Happen

_April 1917_

Anna hadn’t given Mr. Molesley’s book—or his clumsy effort to open the door to a relationship—another moment’s thought after she had left him near the laundry. Her mind was filled with the warm eyes and small private smiles of another man entirely, and it took all her concentration to go about her daily business without falling victim to tears or the distraction of Mr. Bates’s absence. Five months without him, and she could still see his face in her mind’s eye and hear his voice reading poetry as clearly as if she had been with him only yesterday.

Was he in London? She wished she knew. It was fortunate that the family hadn’t traveled there in the time he’d been gone, because she couldn’t have kept herself from going to look, even if it meant running into his horrible wife.

She was imagining what such a scene might be like, the cutting things she would say to Vera and the clever arguments she would make to win Mr. Bates back to Downton, when Ethel came looking for her.

“Molesley wants you.”

“Did he say why?”

Ethel shrugged. Clearly it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder or care. Her message delivered, she left without another word.

Anna missed Gwen, who would have understood. The former housemaid’s letters were full of her job and the young man she cared for, who was at the front now. Glad though she was that her friend had found happiness, Anna couldn’t help being envious.

Mr. Molesley was waiting for her, hat in hand, looking nervous as always. He reminded her of a large, ungainly rabbit, poor man.

“Ethel said you wanted me?”

“No, no … I mean, I just needed a word with you,” he said apologetically.

“If it’s about that book, I’m afraid I—“ Anna began, but Mr. Molesley cut her off with an uncharacteristic decision.

“No, it’s not about the book.”

Oh, dear. “What is it, then?” Maybe she could nip this in the bud and have done with it. She hated to hurt him, but what he wanted was not in her power to give.

He swallowed visibly, collecting himself, but he was calm and direct when he finally spoke. “I understand that Mr. Bates is gone. For good.”

“Yes. I believe that’s true.” Admitting that cost her more than she would have thought—she had hoped she would be used to the idea by now, but it seemed to become harder to believe the longer he was gone.

“So, I was hoping … we might be able to see a little more of each other.”

“Mr. Molesley.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I take this as a real compliment.”

“But … it’s not going to happen.” He seemed resigned, and she wanted him to understand.

“No. You see …” Tears were threatening, her throat closing and aching, but she pushed them away so she could explain. “If you had a child, and that child was taken from you … If—if the child was sent to the moon. There’d never be one day when they were out of your thoughts. Nor one moment when you weren’t praying for their welfare. Even if you knew you’d never see them again.”

“And that’s you and Mr. Bates.”

She nodded. “That’s me and Mr. Bates.” They looked at one another for a moment in silence, before Anna whispered, “But … thank you.”

Mr. Molesley smiled, giving a little nod. He had taken it well—possibly too well, like someone who had never expected the good thing to happen in the first place—but she respected him more both for having made the attempt with such decision and for having stood the rejection with such grace. Mr. Bates had always liked Mr. Molesley, and now she saw why. Underneath the rabbity exterior was a man with a good heart, and she hoped someday he would find a woman who deserved that heart.

She turned and left him, her own heart crying out for the man she had lost. Where was he tonight? Did he miss her as desperately as she missed him? Five months had sharpened her longing rather than dulled it … but had it acted on his the same way? She thought it must have … but what she would have given to know for sure.


	62. Every Sordid Moment

_May 1917_

Bates limped down the walk, leaning more heavily on the cane than usual. The weather was wet and unpleasant, but that wasn’t the reason his leg was bothering him more. It was the lack of exercise. He had grown so used to stretching it and strengthening it to handle all the stairs at Downton, not to mention all the walks into the village and to church and along the various lanes in stolen moments with Anna. Here in London, his life was bounded far more by his mother’s house and the immediate neighborhood.

Today, despite the wet, he had chosen to go a bit farther afield. The longer he was out of the house these days, the better he liked it. Vera alternately sulked, threw things at his head, or tried to seduce him when he was home with her, and when home alone, all he seemed able to do was sit there and imagine what his life would be like if he lived there with Anna, the way things ought to be.

Lost in his thoughts, he paid too little attention as he turned a corner, and had to stop short, nearly unbalancing himself, in order to avoid running into a plump woman who had just emerged from the butcher’s shop. She turned, mouth open to scold him, but stopped before the words came out, looking into his face.

“Why, Jack Bates, as I live and breathe!”

Bates frowned, trying to place her. “Millie Bowers?”

“The very same. How’ve you been, Bates?”

He shrugged.

“Oh, yes, I heard a few things. Jail ain’t pretty, is it?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“Good.” Her face tightened grimly. “My worthless good-for-nothing bloke is in there right now, for stealin’ a pair o’ boots right out of a shop window, the ninny.”

Bates dimly recalled Tom Bowers, a cocky beggar whose roving eye rarely took in his own wife.

Millie Bowers went on, “Oh, I see what you’re thinkin’, all right. You must be glad enough to be back home with the missus, keep her out of trouble.”

“Vera? What kind of trouble?” The possibilities were so many, but Millie’s implication intrigued him.

“Don’t you know? After you went off to Yorkshire, Tom and Vera went at it together.” She curled her lip in disdain. “Lasted longer’n I’d have thought, they did, an’ him all the time spongin’ off me wages and givin’ ‘em to her right along.”

“You don’t say. I didn’t know.” He tried his best to keep the excitement out of his voice. If he could prove the affair, he could get a divorce, no matter what Vera said, and pay her off afterward to keep her quiet about Lady Mary and the Turk. “When was this?”

“Oh, couple years back. He still writes to her, though, tryin’ to get her back.” The sniff Millie gave made her opinions on that more than clear. “Better off without ‘im, I am.” She eyed Bates up and down. “You’re lookin’ well, I have to say. Yorkshire must ‘ave agreed with you.”

“It did. I look forward to going back … someday.” He added the last in a burst of caution. It wouldn’t do to let it get around that he was intending to leave Vera.

Bates took his leave of Millie, hurrying back toward the house. Vera was just leaving as he came in.

“There you are, Batesy. Just in time to come to the pub with me.”

“No, thank you.”

“You know what they say, too much brooding makes Jack a dull boy.”

“It isn’t my intention to keep you entertained, Vera.”

“Oh, but you do anyway.” She grinned, her eyes twinkling, and then she was off.

Bates couldn’t have been happier. A whole night to search through her things looking for letters. He got started at once, finding nothing for the longest time. Then, under a bureau, he found a packet of them, all tied with twine. Carefully he undid the knots, making a note of what they looked like so he could retie them exactly the same. One by one, he read through the letters. Most were from Tom Bowers, but there were a few from other fellows mixed in. The most incriminating was from a young banker, clearly besotted with her, who detailed every sordid moment of a weekend they had spent together, just after Bates had left for Downton.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. What was she thinking, keeping these? Especially here in the house, where he could use them against her? But the thought brought the answer to him—of course, she was keeping them in case she could use them as blackmail in the future. That’s why she hadn’t wanted them far from her, and had been willing to risk keeping them here. He had underestimated her, and in so doing might have overlooked this vital proof much longer had he not run into Millie Bowers today.

Carefully he put all the letters back except the one from the banker and another from Tom Bowers. He tied the string back as close to the way it had been as he could and tucked the letters back into their hiding place. With any luck, she wouldn’t know what he had until long after it was too late for her to do anything about it.


	63. Similarities

_May 1917_

Lady Mary had been awfully quiet, Anna thought, getting out the brush and beginning on the other woman’s hair. It wasn’t like her not to have some type of observation on the day. But it wasn’t Anna’s place to open the conversation, not unless that appeared to be what Lady Mary needed. This contemplative silence seemed more on the order of serious thought, and Anna didn’t want to interrupt that.

Her own thoughts had wandered as she began braiding Lady Mary’s hair for the night, and she was startled when Lady Mary spoke. “What a time we’ve had. Poor Sir Richard must have thought he’d come to a madhouse.”

So that was it. Sir Richard must have spoken before he left. Anna said quietly, “I don’t expect it’ll put him off.”

Lady Mary looked up, meeting Anna’s eyes in the glass, then she glanced away, fiddling with the things on the dressing table. “I’m going to accept him.” She looked up again, seeming to be trying out her announcement on Anna to see what the reaction would be. 

Anna kept her mouth firmly shut. Sir Richard was second-best, if that, but he was a match for Lady Mary … and who would offer for her now, between the rumours about the Turk and the war, from which too many young men were never to return? Anna had no right to criticize Lady Mary for taking the best she could.

“Do you think I should?” Lady Mary asked when Anna didn’t speak.

“That’s not for me to say.” Anna was going to leave it at that, but she thought of Mr. Bates, and of what it had felt like to be in his arms, of the comfort and the happiness of being in his presence. Lady Mary deserved to think she had the right to that. “If you love him more than anyone in the world, then of course you should.”

Lady Mary sighed, looking weary. “It’s not as simple as that.”

It wasn’t, that was true enough. “No? It is for me, but then, I’m not your ladyship.”

Slowly, as though she was reluctant to pry but the answer was important, Lady Mary asked, “Did you love Bates more than anyone else in the world?”

Anna nodded, thinking of him. How she missed him. “I did. I do.” She hesitated, then added, “I’ll never love again like I love him. Never.”

Lady Mary looked at her with sympathy. From Lady Mary, there was never pity, that at least was something. “Well, there you are then,” she said in her more normal, business-like voice. “One day you’ll meet someone else, and you’ll marry. Perhaps it’ll be second-best, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a life.”

They weren’t talking about Anna anymore … if they had been at all. She was struck once again by the similarities in their situation, both hopelessly in love with men who were completely out of their reach. But there was a difference, too, one of the rare ways in which Anna was more free to choose for herself than Lady Mary.

“I think it does. For me,” she said softly. There was no life to be had without Mr. Bates in it; there was only work, and going on with her head held high in the knowledge that she had been loved.

Lady Mary looked sad. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We all have our crosses to bear. Some heavier than others,” she added, tying off the braid. “Just … some decisions are made quickly and last a lifetime,” she added, thinking of Mr. Bates and his wife. “Don’t rush into something you might regret later.”

“The decision lasts a lifetime either way,” Lady Mary pointed out. “If a person takes too long to make a decision and the opportunity slips through her fingers, she regrets it just as much.”

There was nothing comforting to be said there. Lady Mary’s hesitation over Mr. Matthew’s proposal certainly had had consequences enough. Anna squeezed the other woman’s shoulder. “Shall I turn down the bed, my lady?”

“Yes. Thank you. I might as well try to sleep on it.”


	64. When You Find This

_June 1917_

Things moved quickly, once Bates had visited his lawyer with the proof of Vera’s infidelity. He had the lawyer make fresh copies of the letters and then tucked them away, so that he could be certain nothing happened to them. The lawyer’s advice had been to remove himself from the house, even though it had been his mother’s, to show conclusively that Vera’s unfaithfulness had broken the marriage. He would need to go where she couldn’t find him—her threats to expose the Granthams to scandal only worked if she could gain something from Bates. He knew Vera well enough to be sure she would hold onto that trump card as long as she could before playing it, so he would have at least some time of safety while she searched for him.

Going back to Downton was out of the question; returning to Anna was out of the question. It would anger Vera beyond belief were he to do either thing, and she would run straight to the papers. No, he needed to go somewhere else entirely … but temptation wasn’t to be denied quite so easily. As he racked his brain to think of where to go, Bates remembered an old friend from his early service days who had started up an inn in the town of Kirkbymoorside, which was far enough from Downton not to be easily discovered, but still only a bus ride away. He could possibly manage a way to catch a glimpse of Anna one day. At least the hope would be there.

Bates made a call to his friend’s inn, the Red Lion, and learned there was an opening. He would be serving ale and cider, staying in the inn. His friend had been delighted to hear from him, and more than happy to keep the whole thing quiet once he understood the unfortunate marital situation. Bates was grateful for the solid, cheery fellow and his hearty assurances of support and friendship. Another man in Bates’s position might have been troubled by the idea of serving alcohol, but he wasn’t. The drink had no further temptations for him.

When Vera went out for the evening, he packed swiftly. Sitting down, he wrote out a brief note.

_Vera – When you find this, I will be gone. I have proof of your infidelity while I was in prison and after. That proof is in the hands of my lawyer and copies are safely hidden, as well. I regret that it has to come to this. At any point, if you would prefer an amicable divorce, I would be happy to give you one, and to pay you whatever is in my power. You have only to contact me through my lawyer to let me know that you want such a thing._

He considered warning her against using what she thought she knew about Lady Mary and the Turk, but decided it was best not to mention it. Not that she would have forgotten, but why taunt her?

With a sigh, he looked around at his mother’s house. Her spirit wasn’t here, and his memories of the place were as much bitter as sweet, but still … he hoped that at some point he could come back with its true mistress at his side.

And with that hope to buoy him up, he left.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The house was silent. Too silent. Jack had taken sulking too a new level recently, but this was quiet far beyond his abilities. Vera felt a sudden chill of suspicion. No, he wouldn’t have. Would he? She still held over him the truth about Lady Mary of Downton, the prissy little slut—he wouldn’t have dared leave while she could still tell what she knew.

Or so she told herself as she hurried up the stairs. But the note on her bed, with her name in his distinctive bold writing, said otherwise. The fool.

The pain chose that moment to strike, so hard that Vera had to sit down on the bed and concentrate on her breathing. If only he knew how little time she had left. Not that she would ever have told him. She’d gone to great lengths to make sure he didn’t know she was ill—and that hadn’t been easy. Jack was a smart man. Not very observant, though. Never had been.

She couldn’t help thinking of him the way he had been once. Strong, powerful, forceful. There was no one else quite like him. Even he wasn’t like himself these days. That damn prison had taken the spark right out of him, left him a stone sober prig who was no fun at all. So why cling on? Vera thought. Why not let him go, back to that milk-and-water thing he kept at Downton? He was no good to Vera the way he was. Briefly, she could see herself doing it, taking him for every penny his dear sweet old mother had left him and giving him the divorce he wanted so badly.

But then Vera thought about the look in that Anna’s eyes, as she had faced Vera down in the servants’ hall. No woman like that would get the best of her. Even ill, Vera was more than a match for a skinny, pale little thing like that. And she was damned if she was letting Jack go without a fight.

Crumpling the note in her hand, she thought about tactics. She couldn’t go to the papers now; if she did, she’d have nothing further to hold over him. But she could string him along for a while. She still had a little time left; she would use it to play with Jack, make him think he was winning. If she couldn’t have him back, at least she could punish him. Yes, Vera thought, reaching for the bottle hidden in her nightstand. She drank some, feeling the blessed relief from the pain as it moved through her system. She would see to it that it took as long as possible for him to have what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In trying to come up with a believable reason for Vera's behavior, and her ultimate uncharacteristic decision, this was the best explanation I could imagine.


	65. Inarguable Reasons

_July 1917_

Bates’s friend at the Red Lion had walked him through all his new duties. None seemed overly taxing, and while it might be surprising to some to have a former drunkard working behind a bar, Bates didn’t mind it. He had lost his taste for drink altogether in the months in Vera’s company, watching her swill gin like water. It saddened him to see the occasional man lost to his former vice, but as Kirkbymoorside was a country market town, most men were too busy earning a living to support their families to tipple overmuch. And it was nice in the mornings, before the tavern opened, to relax with his old friend and catch up on all that had happened to him in the time since they had last seen each other. Bates was circumspect about his own story; no need to go into details there.

He was happy to have returned to Yorkshire, feeling the very air fresher than in London, and free from the weight of Vera on his shoulders. She wouldn’t go to the papers now, he was sure of that—to do so would destroy her hold on him, and with him in possession of proof of her infidelity, there would be no further ties between them. So he had few worries on that score, as long as he could remain hidden from her for the time it took to obtain the divorce. That would be a tricky business, and a long-drawn-out one, but he was prepared to wait. Stubborn as Vera could be, she would find he was more so.

It was difficult not to think of Anna. He wanted to pick up the telephone and call Downton, just to hear her soft voice. He longed to know what was happening with them all—how Mr. Matthew was getting on at the front, whether Thomas had found a way to wiggle himself back yet, whether Lord Grantham had found a new valet. Most importantly, he wanted to know if Anna could ever forgive him, if she still loved him, with a need that practically burned inside him.

Bates was having a harder and harder time calling her exact features to memory in his mind’s eye, as he lay in his bed at night thinking of her, missing her with every breath. If only he could see her again, just for a moment. She went into the village often on a Wednesday, he reminded himself, on her afternoon out. He could go there, just watch her unseen, just to see how she was looking and reassure himself that she was well.

No, he couldn’t, he scolded himself. Too many people in the village knew what he looked like. And what if Anna saw him? What if she saw him and pretended she hadn’t, or if she was angry with him? What if she wasn’t angry with him? He couldn’t afford to be near her until his divorce went through.

They were good reasons to stay away, he said firmly to himself, rolling over and punching his pillow. Very good reasons. Inarguable reasons.

But he still went to sleep dreaming of finding a secluded spot the next Wednesday and standing there, waiting, to catch a glimpse of her.


	66. She Must Have Imagined It

_July 1917_

Anna looked down at her packages. Had she got everything she’d meant to in the village today? Something was nagging at her. Oh, yes! Mrs. Hughes’s stamps. She turned around, shifting the basket hanging over her arm. It was rather heavy today. Or perhaps she was just moving more slowly than she used to.

Resolutely she pulled her thoughts away from Mr. Bates. While she never for a moment regretted loving him, every once in a while she thought it might be nice if she didn’t think of him quite so often. Just for the rest. Work helped; if she could lose herself in work, that was the best medicine. But when the task was tedious, or she was alone, the memories came flooding back whether she willed them to or not. She gave herself a little shake, determined to finish her errands and hurry back to Downton before she embarrassed herself by weeping on the street.

It was in the middle of those thoughts that she looked up and saw Mr. Bates, standing by a tree.

No. Surely not. He was in London, she told herself. It was just a man … in a long dark coat … leaning on a cane … standing in that posture that was so familiar and dear to her.

By the time she had convinced herself that it must be him, he had turned around and disappeared behind the tree.

Anna had to tell her feet to move, because they were frozen to the ground. A bus went by and pulled up, cutting off her view of the tree and any chance of keeping the man in sight, and she hurried faster, her heart pounding in her chest as though it would burst right through.

The bus moved on just as she came around the tree … and no one was there. Anna looked wildly around her; he must be here! He couldn’t have moved so fast that he could vanish this completely. Unless he’d gotten on the bus, but it had paused only for a moment. Surely there hadn’t been time.

Anna felt tears welling up in her eyes as she realized that she must have imagined it. Was she going crazy? Was her sanity yielding to the constant sorrow and fear for his well-being? How she longed just to see him for a moment, to look at him and be sure he was well. The man she had seen here in the village had looked well—but he couldn’t have been here.

Confused, bereft, and heart-broken, Anna trudged back to Downton, the stamps entirely forgotten.


	67. A Bit Preoccupied

_July 1917_

Anna looked at the contraption in Lady Mary’s hand with some concern. On any other day, she would have welcomed the challenge of learning how to do something new with her ladyship’s hair—she liked a little change now and then, and thought Lady Mary’s more adventurous side could use some encouragement. Today, however, Anna’s mind was still filled with that brief glimpse she’d thought she’d had of Mr. Bates in the village. Had she really seen him? She only wished she could be sure.

“Of course, my lady. Let’s try it,” she said, attempting to keep her doubts off her face. What else could she say, after all? Lady Mary was kind enough, but when she wanted something, it was best to make sure she got it.

Fortunately, the curling iron turned out to be fairly easy to understand, once Anna got used to handling it, and it was soothing to focus on the individual strands of hair, holding them just right so they took the curl. After the first few, she had the hang of it so well her thoughts began to wander, again, back to the village. She must have been imagining it, she told herself. Mr. Bates was nowhere near here. He was in London. With her. He must be. But it had looked so like him, and her heart had leaped within her breast just as if it really was him …

Lady Mary looked up at her with a pleased smile, which faded as she caught sight of Anna’s distracted face. “Are you all right? You seem a bit preoccupied.”

Trust her ladyship to be paying attention when Anna least wanted her to. It was on the tip of Anna’s tongue to say that it was nothing … but who else could she tell this to? She had to say to someone what had happened, if only to get a second opinion on whether she was going crazy, imagining things that couldn’t possibly be there. “I had a—“ What was she thinking? Lady Mary didn’t need to hear the intimate details of her housemaid’s life. “Oh, never mind.”

But her ladyship wasn’t to be put off so easily. “What?” she asked, in a tone that said she expected an answer.

“It was this afternoon. In the village.” She took the curling iron away from Lady Mary’s hair, not wanting to burn her ladyship in her distraction. “I thought I saw Mr. Bates.”

“Bates? Isn’t he in London?”

Anna rearranged one or two of the curls, keeping her eyes down. “I might have been wrong,” she admitted. “I walked up to where he was standing, and there was no sign of him, but—“

“Do you know his address in London?”

“As long as he’s still there. Why?”

“I’ll telephone Sir Richard and ask him to look into it.”

“But what would he know?” Unspoken were Anna’s concerns about Lady Mary’s growing relationship with Sir Richard Carlisle. She wouldn’t want to be the instrument for her ladyship making a decision she might come to regret. Then again, with Mr. Matthew unavailable, it was true that Lady Mary would have to marry someone, and Sir Richard was certainly eligible.

A smile turned up the corners of Lady Mary’s mouth. “He works in newspapers—a world of spies, tip-offs, and private investigators. I promise you, he can find out whatever he likes.”

Anna couldn’t keep an answering smile off her face. “All right, then, if you think he could help.”

“Good. I’ll ring him tonight.” Putting a cap on the conversation, Lady Mary turned her head back and forth, studying the curls. “Not bad. Try to fit in a bit of practice. We’ve plenty of time to get it right before there’s anyone to see me who matters.”

The change in topic kept Anna from thanking her ladyship as she might have otherwise done, but it did nothing to keep her thoughts from turning to Mr. Bates again, with an excitement she’d been trying to suppress. What if it had been him she’d seen in the village? What if he’d come back, looking for her? What if he was free? It was hard to remember the resigned acceptance she’d felt when she woke up that morning with this unexpected hope bubbling up inside her.


	68. Overpowering

_July 1917_

As he went about his work, pouring drinks and making change, Bates chastised himself for having taken the risk. He couldn’t be sure if Anna had seen him, but he thought she had. He imagined her reaction—anxiety, anger, renewed grief? It was impossible to say. She ought to be angry with him; she ought to hate him. He richly deserved it. But no matter what her emotions were, seeing him would have been bound to upset her, and the last thing he wanted was Anna upset.

But how could he not have gone? So close to her, here in Kirkbymoorside, the temptation had been overpowering. Over and over he had called up into memory her sweet face and her honest, open blue eyes and her quick walk until the images were practically worn out in his mind. He had needed to glimpse her again, just for a moment, just to convince himself that she was real. Anna had begun to seem like a dream, too good to be true, leaving Vera as the only reality of his life. The hunger to at least see her, even if he was never again to talk to her, touch her, kiss her the way he longed to do, had consumed him until he couldn’t fight it any longer.

She had been everything he remembered. So slim and strong and busy about her errands, no moment wasted. That was Anna all over—not wasting a moment if she could avoid it. She spent her life wisely. Unlike him, who had thrown away more moments than any man had a right to be handed. He had been lost in admiration of her, just staring, hoping for a look at her face, when she turned his way.

The marks of his callousness had shown there—her face was thinner than he remembered, more drawn, more serious. Her ready smile was nowhere in evidence, and her shoulders seemed less straight. Bates had been filled with guilt at what he had done to her, and shame. He’d never had any right to allow her to care for him that way, or to raise her hopes just to shatter them so thoroughly.

Nonetheless, even pinched and pale and saddened, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He was thinking that, smiling a little, when she looked up, and he knew he had to hurry or the confrontation he dreaded and dreamed of would be happening here in the midst of the village, in front of everyone.

Only once he was safely seated on the bus, his shoulders hunched so she couldn’t see him in the window, did he allow himself to consider that anyone could have seen him—what a foolish chance he had taken. If Vera found out that he was this close to Anna … well, there wasn’t much she could do, not really. But it was safest not to court the danger in the first place, he told himself. This couldn’t happen again.

The rest of the night he was lost in the swirl of his emotions—joy at seeing Anna again; guilt at having allowed her to glimpse him, even at a distance; longing to see her again, to speak to her; irritation with himself for being so weak that he couldn’t stay away from her, even for her own good. The only comfort was that she wouldn’t have any way of finding him. If Vera couldn’t, then certainly Anna wouldn’t be able to manage it.

But God, how he wanted her to.


	69. Their Own Sorrow

_July 1917_

Anna kept her eyes on the bandage she was rolling, making it a matter of great importance that the edges lined up properly. Putting every ounce of energy she could muster into each of her tasks helped her stop jumping every time there was a telephone call or a telegram, and from wondering over and over if it had really been Mr. Bates she’d seen in the village and, if so, why he had come so close and not come all the way to speak to her. In her imagination, there were endless explanations, but she wouldn’t know the true one until she’d seen him again.

She glanced up as Lady Mary approached with a basket under her arm.

“Peace at last,” Lady Mary said, breathing a sigh of relief. The arrival of the convalescent officers had the whole house in an uproar.

Anna smiled, returning to her bandage-rolling. “We’ll settle in, once we get used to it.” She wasn’t going to ask, she told herself … but she couldn’t help it. “Any news from Sir Richard?”

Lady Mary glanced at her kindly. “Not yet.” She began unloading her basket into one of the drawers. “But we won’t have to wait long.”

Nodding, Anna dropped her gaze to the floor. She wanted him back so desperately, she didn’t know if she could wait another minute. She’d stood it all with the best grace she could muster for so long … sometimes it felt as though she would burst if it lasted any further. Resolutely, she pulled herself together and remembered her duties. “I can leave this, my lady, if you want to go to bed.”

“There’s no hurry. Though I do think you should be reading, or talking … You can’t work every hour God sends.” Lady Mary smiled a little.

“I want to,” Anna said. “I want to be tired out. I don’t want time to myself.” It was nothing less than the truth, and it felt odd to be sharing such a depth of emotion with Lady Mary—not just because of the mistress and servant relationship, but because of Lady Mary’s own reserve. There was a wall in her that she rarely allowed anyone to glimpse past, and Anna respected that. She often felt, even in these moments of comparative openness, that she should maintain a similar wall inside herself in order to meet Lady Mary on her own terms, and most often she could manage such a thing. But right now, with her nerves stretched to the breaking point—

They were silent for a moment, the very air gone still. At last, hesitantly, Lady Mary asked, “Do you miss him very much?”

Anna could only nod, at first, fighting back the tears that wanted to burst forth. Finally she managed to get her voice under control. “I can’t think of anything but him,” she answered, in as matter-of-fact a tone as her ladyship had asked the question. “It’s as if I were mad. Or ill.” She bit her lip, not sure why she was admitting the depths of her grief so willingly. “I suppose that’s what love is, a kind of illness. When you’ve got it, there’s just nothing else.”

Lady Mary met her eyes, kindness and sympathy and something darker and more despairing in her gaze. She looked away, her voice so low Anna had to strain to hear her. “I know.”

There was nothing to be said to that. Locked each in their own sorrow, they went back to work, and didn’t speak another word.


	70. Now You've Got It

_July 1917_

Anna and Ethel were busy making up the bed in Lady Mary’s room—in silence, which was their usual habit. Anna missed Gwen; they’d had such chats over their work. The other girl was enjoying her secretarial work, though, and her letters made Anna happy, glad that things were working out for one of them, at any rate.

The door opened and Lady Mary rushed in, an unusually happy smile on her face. “Anna, there you are. Ethel, could you leave us for a moment?”

Ethel glanced between them, dropped the sheet from her hand, and rushed out of the room as though she’d been reprimanded. Or as though any excuse to stop work was to be leapt on, which was more like her, Anna thought cynically.

But soon Ethel was the last thing on her mind, because no sooner had the door closed behind the other maid than Lady Mary came closer, her smile widening. “That was Sir Richard on the telephone. It might have been Bates you saw in the village.”

Anna felt dizzy, all the breath gone from her body as though a great wind had sucked it out of her. “Really,” she said, when what she wanted to do was run from the room and sprint into the village and throw open every door until she found him.

Lady Mary went on, “He’s working up here at a pub, the Red Lion in Kirkbymoorside.”

It sounded unreal, impossible. “That’s odd. Mr. Bates, in a pub?” It didn’t sound like him in the least.

Dismissing Anna’s quibble, Lady Mary looked at her intently. “The question is, what’ll you do with the information now you’ve got it?”

What would she do? Anna felt unsteady on her feet, the world shaking beneath her. She hadn’t expected this, not really. But her ladyship was standing in front of her, expecting an answer, and Anna well knew the answer Lady Mary expected to hear. But were either of them bold enough women to take such a chance? Clearly, Lady Mary thought Anna should be, and maybe that was what was happening here—Lady Mary had lost any chance of getting back the love she had lost, and so Anna’s lost love was filling in for what she couldn’t have.

Anna took a deep breath. “I’ll have to go and see him, I suppose.”

Her ladyship nodded, her smile returning. “I suppose you will.”  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Anna was surprised that it was so easy to hold her hands steady. She sat in front of the glass, wielding the curling iron as deftly as if it were part of her hand, as if tomorrow were any other day and not the one she had dreamed of and longed for and despaired would ever happen. She lifted her hair and wrapped it around the curling iron. She wasn’t a vain woman, never had been, but she was proud of her hair, long and silky and shiny. She wished Mr. Bates could see it down this way. A little smile touched her lips as she pictured the look in his eyes if he ever did.

“Got any plans for your afternoon out?” Ethel’s voice from the bed startled her out of her pleasurable imaginings. Anna didn’t answer, hoping the other girl would take the hint and not continue talking, but naturally she didn’t. Ethel had all the tact of an elephant. “Major Bryant wants me to go to the pictures in York with him when he’s allowed out.”

At that, Anna paused in her curling and turned to look at the other maid.

Ethel read her incredulous look correctly, pouting. “You’ll say that’s stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Anna said, turning back to the glass. “Insane.”

Like a petted puppy, Ethel jumped up, coming to kneel at the end of her bed, next to where Anna sat, her voice rising with enthusiasm. “Oh, he really likes me, though! He says he wants to get to know me better.”

It was hard to believe any girl could be such a fool as to fall for that major’s lines. “Has he told you how he’s planning to achieve it?” Anna asked, feeling very mature and worldly-wise next to Ethel’s starry-eyed naivete.

Ethel’s face fell. “Spoilsport.” She was silent for a moment. Then it appeared to register with her that sitting in front of the glass and curling her hair wasn’t something Anna did most nights. “What are you up to?”

“Just practicing with these for Lady Mary. Promised her I would.” Anna was proud that she’d kept the excitement out of her voice. She sounded like a proper, business-like lady’s maid. Looking at herself in the glass, she tried a few different ways to arrange the curled hair. Ethel was forgotten as she imagined Mr. Bates’s face, and what he would say when he saw her.


	71. Here, in Front of Him

_July 1917_

Bates found work in the pub more congenial than he had imagined. He enjoyed catching up with his friend, and while the days were long, the only stairs involved were the ones he climbed to his own bed at night. He had thus far resisted the temptation to go back to look at Anna again; being near enough that such a thing was possible would have to do, he told himself sternly, over and over.

So when he looked up at a jingle of the bell while he was in the midst of making change and saw her there, small and pale and very composed, he almost thought he was imagining things.

“Might I have a glass of cider?” she said, and the spell was broken. She was real; she was here, in front of him. Come to see him—she had to be. His heart leaped in his chest with a hope he had almost given up on. He had no idea what change he gave the customer. The man didn’t complain, which was all that mattered, because Bates had no eyes for anything but Anna, as she drew nearer the counter. She was far more beautiful than he remembered—far, far more beautiful than he deserved.

She didn’t speak again as they stared at each other, and he couldn’t read her eyes to see what she was thinking. “I don’t know if I’ve dreaded this moment or longed for it,” he said.

“Well, either way … it’s happened.” Her voice was flat, expressionless, and the hope that had begun to flicker inside him died away. She can’t have forgiven him—why should she have?

“I’ll get you that cider.” He poured the glass, waving away her money. “I could take a break, if you want to talk.”

Anna nodded.

She had never been a chatterer, but he didn’t like this sudden silence. It was too quiet. Bates waited until they were seated at a table by the window, wondering if she would speak now, but she didn’t, merely sipping her cider as if she had all the time in the world.

“How did you find me?” he asked at last.

“Lady Mary. She rang up Sir Richard.”

“You knew I had left London?” Of course she did. She must have seen him in the village, more fool he.

Anna’s calm façade cracked for the first time. “I thought I saw you in the village. I thought—“ She looked away, taking a breath to compose herself. “I thought I was losing my mind, imagining things, and then, when Lady Mary asked if I was all right, I told her, and she asked Sir Richard to find out if you were still in London.” Their eyes met.

“It was me,” he said. “I knew you used to go into the village on a Wednesday and …” He paused. She didn’t look receptive to any declarations, but she had to know how he felt. “I so longed for a glimpse of you.”

She didn’t react to his admission, her eyes studying his face like a puzzle to be solved. “But why are you up here at all? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to get things settled first. You see, I’ve discovered that Vera—“ oh, but this was a strange thing to be admitting to the woman he had fallen in love with while still married— “has been unfaithful to me. I’ve got proof.”

Anna clearly found it strange, as well. She rolled her eyes a bit. “Well, we can’t criticize her for that.”

“No, but it means I can divorce her. I’ve had to leave the house to prove that it has broken the marriage … so I came up here to be nearer you.” He watched her for some sign of softening, some sign that she had forgiven him, that she still loved him.

“But what if she fights it?”

There was a liveliness in her face now that hadn’t been there before, and in her voice, and he sought to reassure her, to build on that liveliness. “She can’t. For her to divorce me, she needs something beyond adultery … cruelty, or such like. For a husband, adultery is enough.”

Anna looked away from him. “That’s not very fair to women.”

“I don’t care about fairness. I care about you!” His voice rose just a bit with the intensity of his desire to reach her behind the wall of calm she had built. Anna met his eyes, but she didn’t say anything, and he went on, desperate to persuade her that things had changed. “The point is, I can get rid of her. If she goes quietly, I will give her money and plenty of it. If not, she leaves empty-handed.”

“And when will this be?” Anna asked, the question a challenge.

“I need to get her to accept it first.” There had been no word from Vera since he’d been here, and his lawyer said she still refused to consider that she had lost. The knowledge of what Lady Mary had done still lay in her pocket, but Bates was confident she wouldn’t actually use it, because that would be to lose her last leverage over him. “She’s made threats about selling stuff to the papers.”

“What stuff?”

“Don’t worry. They won’t offer what I will.” He was sure of it; an intensely practical woman, Vera would eventually see that her advantage lay in accepting what he had to offer. Her only advantage.

Anna’s eyes faltered in front of his, and she glanced toward the window again. Bates watched her for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, so long dreamed of.

“You’ve changed your hair,” he said softly.

That got him a small smile, her first since she came in the door, and his heart pounded with hope renewed.

“I was trying out Lady Mary’s new curling iron,” she explained. And then she looked at him and there in her eyes was his Anna, the Anna he loved so. “What do you think?”

He couldn’t hold back the words any longer. “I think I would love you however, whatever, whenever.”

Words rushed out of her, as though she, too, had been holding herself back. “We don’t have to wait, you know. If you want me to throw up everything and come with you, I will.” Tears trembled in her voice. “Gladly.”

God, how he wanted her. But not on those terms. Not outside the law. “I can’t marry you yet, not legally. And I won’t break the law.”

“It’s not against the law to take a mistress, Mr. Bates.”

Heat filled him with her words. She was truly magnificent—generous, and strong, and courageous. He held out his hands across the table, and she slipped her small gloved one into his. He held her hand there with gentleness and reverence and all the love he would never be able to deny again.

He longed to hear her call him “John” again, as she had that last, terrible night, but the familiarity of “Mr. Bates” falling from her lips made him imagine what could happen if he said yes to her audacious proposal. But no matter how much he yearned for her at his side, in his life, in his arms, in every way possible, this was not the way. Not for her. “I know you, Anna Smith, and I love you, and that is not the right path for you. But it won’t be long now.”

For a moment, Bates thought she was going to argue with him, but she nodded, instead, her fingers curling around his and squeezing. “I will come back to see you,” she said, as if daring him to argue with her.

“I couldn’t stand it if you didn’t.” He meant that; letting her go again today would be hard enough. Now that he’d seen her again, now that he knew she still loved him … he couldn’t go without that again.

She looked outside again. “I have to go. The next bus will be coming soon.”

Bates nodded. His break was long past over by now, and his friend would be needing him back behind the bar. He let go of her hand reluctantly and walked her to the door. As Anna was about to turn to leave, he caught her hand once more. “Anna, can I—Do you—I …” He couldn’t bear to ask. Her actions said she loved him, but how he wanted—needed—to hear her say the words.

As she so often did, she read his thoughts. Standing up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips against his cheek and whispered, “I love you, Mr. Bates.”


	72. Very Romantic, Certainly

_July 1917_

Lady Grantham was in Lady Mary’s room when Anna slipped in to dress the younger woman that evening. Her ladyship looked up when the door opened. “There you are, Anna. I was about to send out a search party. O’Brien finished with me more than ten minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Anna said breathlessly. She’d run up the stairs to change and then run back down, late from her afternoon out because the bus had had to make an unscheduled stop while a flock of sheep crossed the road. She glanced at Lady Mary, whose eyes were wide and sparkling with curiosity. Naturally she couldn’t explain to Lady Grantham where she’d been today—Lady Grantham had never been fond of Mr. Bates, and would certainly not approve of Anna running after him now that he’d left the house in such a shamefully hasty way.

“I hope everything’s all right,” Lady Grantham said.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Really, Mama, how is Anna supposed to get me ready if you’re in here asking her questions?” Lady Mary interrupted impatiently. “Please, tell Papa I’ll be down shortly. I promise not to throw off Mrs. Patmore’s timing.”

“Please don’t. You know how she gets.” Lady Grantham got to her feet and left the room.

No sooner had the door closed behind her mother than Lady Mary turned to Anna. “Well? Did you see him? Was he there?”

Anna couldn’t hold back her smile any longer. “Yes, and yes.”

“And?”

“And … he thinks he can get a divorce now.” Anna caught up the dress that lay on Lady Mary’s bed and helped her ladyship into it. “He just has to wait a bit while she gets the idea that she can’t fight it.”

“How long will that take?”

It was the darkest spot on this bright day. “He doesn’t know.”

“So it was Bates you saw in the village, then?”

Anna nodded.

“I take it he came north to be near you?” At Anna’s repeated nod, Lady Mary sighed, turning to look at herself in the glass. “It’s an unusual mix, a valet with the soul of a knight errant. But very romantic, certainly.”

There wasn’t much of the knight errant in Mr. Matthew’s make-up, Anna thought as her ladyship took her seat before the glass and waited for Anna to brush her hair. But Lady Mary had wounded him deeply when she wouldn’t marry him while they waited to see if the poor lost baby was a boy. Perhaps, not knowing Lady Mary as she did, Mr. Matthew hadn’t realized the depth of her feelings. Clearly he hadn’t, or he wouldn’t have gone and chosen another woman to marry.

“Will you go back?” Lady Mary asked, breaking into Anna’s thoughts.

“Of course.”

“Would you—“ Her ladyship broke off the question. “How indelicate of me.”

“What was, my lady?”

“I was going to ask if you’d go away with him.”

Anna took a deep breath. It certainly was indelicate, but Lady Mary deserved to know how things stood—if it weren’t for her ladyship, Anna wouldn’t even have known where Mr. Bates was. “If he asked me to, I would. Wherever, whenever.” She closed her eyes, remembering how he had looked and sounded when he had used those same words this afternoon. She shivered with the sudden intensity of her longing.

Lady Mary said nothing, merely watching her in the glass.

Collecting herself, Anna went on, “But he won’t. He’s too honourable to compromise me, or himself, that way. So … we’ll wait. And see. And hope for the best.”

“And you’re happy with that?” Lady Mary asked the question in a near-whisper.

“Yesterday I didn’t know if I would ever see him again. Now I know that he’s nearby, and that he never stopped working toward our future together. How could I not be happy with that?” And she was … for now.


	73. Someone You Can't Have

_July 1917_

Weary to the bone, Anna trooped down the stairs once Lady Mary was safely tucked into her bed. The excitement of the evening—tearing through the house with the note written by Mr. Branson to Lady Sybil, catching the chauffeur moments before he would have ruined the honour of Downton—had worn off, but not enough so that she could sleep. Not yet. She needed a hot cup of tea, and more than that, she needed to talk things over with Mr. Bates. Not that she could, with him in Kirkbymoorside and herself here. She’d told herself it was better than it had been, but it wasn’t, not really. She still missed his presence with every heartbeat.

Another man entirely was sitting at the table, shirt sleeves rolled up, looking as drained as Anna felt.

“You here, Mr. Branson? I thought you’d gone back to your cottage.”

He snorted a laugh. “My cottage. It won’t be much longer, not after tonight.”

“Did Mr. Carson sack you?”

“Not yet, but we both know it’s coming.”

“You didn’t actually do anything. Maybe he’ll take that into account.”

“Maybe.” He rested his forehead against his clasped hands.

“Would you like some tea? I was just going to make myself some.”

“Yes. Thank you, Anna.”

She bustled about the kitchen as quietly as she could, and delivered him the steaming cup of fragrant tea, taking another for herself. She sat across the table from him as he sipped. “Mr. Branson?”

“Please, call me Tom. All this Mr. business … it doesn’t feel like me.”

“Mr. Carson would be shocked.”

“Perhaps Mr. Carson needs some shocking.”

“I think he’s had enough for one night, don’t you?” They smiled at each other. “I found the note you left Lady Sybil, you know.”

“Did you?”

Anna hesitated before asking, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer. “Why did you leave it for her?” At Tom’s raised eyebrows, she clarified, “Instead of for Mr. Carson, or Mrs. Hughes, or even Lord Grantham.”

“Because—“ He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, but Anna saw it written on his face.

“Oh, Tom.”

“You think I’m a fool, don’t you?”

She didn’t want to say so, not in so many words, but there was no denying it. Anna nodded.

“I’d have thought you of all people would understand.”

“Understand?”

“That sometimes it’s not possible to tell your heart to stop loving someone you can’t have.” His voice cracked with a pain that was all too familiar to Anna.

“No, you’re right,” she said in a whisper, feeling the sting of those hateful tears behind her eyes. “I … I couldn’t even have tried.”

Tom shook his head. “Me, neither. She’s so— She’s everything. And I can’t be here and not feel … what I feel.”

Oh, how Anna knew what that was like. And there was no comfort to give. Even if Tom didn’t lose his place over tonight’s incident, Lady Sybil remained as far above him and out of his reach as if she was on the moon. Wordlessly, Anna reached across the table, covering Tom’s hand with her own.


	74. A Little Longer

_August 1917_

Anna could barely sit still as the bus neared Kirkbymoorside. After all those months apart, she wouldn’t have imagined it would be so hard to go a simple week without seeing Mr. Bates again, but how she had missed him. Just remembering the warmth in his eyes and the easy way “love” had fallen from his lips—such a change from the way things used to be—made her insides feel all liquid and fluttery. He had turned down her offer of becoming his mistress, and she appreciated his thoughtfulness, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait. It was as if all the longing she had fought against for so long had come flooding back, and the wave threatened to overwhelm her at all sorts of inconvenient times.

Finally the bus was pulling up to the stop. To her surprise, Mr. Bates was standing there waiting for her, that familiar little smile on his face.

“I thought you might wait inside,” she said breathlessly, unable to stop herself from reaching for his hand.

His fingers closed around hers. “I couldn’t stand it another minute. How is it possible for a week to be so long?”

Anna laughed. “I felt the same.”

He gave her hand a tug. “Come; walk with me.”

She followed him willingly through the village. Such a lovely, warm day, and they were here together and had the whole afternoon with one another. Anna couldn’t remember when she’d felt so happy.

Soon they were outside the village, walking along a little country lane. Anna’s hand was tucked in the crook of Mr. Bates’s elbow, and they strolled along smiling at one another foolishly. But Anna had lived too practical a life to be able to let the real world go for very long. “Have you heard from your lawyer?”

Mr. Bates sighed, clearly wishing the interlude could have lasted a little longer. “Yes. He says Vera is squawking about my departure, swearing she won’t let me go.”

“Why not? Can’t she see that you’ve moved on and are no longer the man she was married to?” It felt strange to put it so bluntly, but it was the truth.

“No. It seemed to be more than that,” he said thoughtfully. His eyes were far away, thinking about her with a residual fondness, and Anna felt jealousy, sharp and ugly, poking at her. “Vera seemed genuinely to want things to go back to the way they were before. But they couldn’t. I couldn’t. Not even if I had never met you.”

“Doesn’t stop you from feeling badly for her.”

“No. It doesn’t.” He stopped walking, turning to look down at Anna. “I’m sorry if that hurts you; I know it would hurt me if our situations were reversed. But I can’t just … it doesn’t matter what kind of woman she is. At least part of her plight is my fault. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Anna said, trying to hide what an unwilling admission it was. “But she’s a grown woman and she’s made her choices.”

“She has.” They walked on some more. Abruptly, Mr. Bates said, “Seen anything of Mr. Molesley?”

Perhaps it wasn’t ladylike of her, but Anna felt an inward glow of satisfaction. Jealousy went both ways, it seemed. Although poor Mr. Molesley didn’t deserve Mr. Bates’s jealousy. “I have. He … was sad to hear you had left Downton.”

“We’ve known each other for a number of years.”

“So I understand. He also asked me—“

“What you would do with me out of the picture?”

“Yes.”

“What did you say?”

It was Anna’s turn to stop. She took both of Mr. Bates’s hands in hers. “I said that you would never be out of the picture as far as I was concerned. That you could go away to the moon and I wouldn’t stop loving you and thinking about you.”

“Anna …” He lifted one hand to her cheek, stroking her skin. Anna leaned into the remembered touch, her eyes closing of their own volition. And then she felt his hand curve around the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and his mouth on hers. The kiss, soft and sweet, was lovely, but not enough to touch the fire that was rising inside her. She rose on her tiptoes, pressing herself closer with no regard for the fact that they were on a country lane in full view of anyone going by. As her body touched his, Mr. Bates’s other arm swept around her, keeping her there. He groaned deep in his throat. His mouth opened and his tongue touched her lips. Willingly, Anna allowed him entry, the kiss deepening and strengthening as her body melted against him.

He pulled back first, despite the undignified mewl of protest that escaped her. “Please, Mr. Bates,” she whispered. “Take me back to your room. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

He breathed her name again, but with sadness. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why won’t you call me John?”

They looked at one another. Anna meant to be defiant and pretend to miss his point, but she couldn’t. She blinked, unable to hold his gaze. “Because … when I call you that I want you to truly be mine.”

“It’s the same for me. Anna, I want it, too, you must know that, but I won’t have it this way. I can’t, not and be able to respect myself. Do you understand?”

Unwillingly, Anna nodded. “I do. I just … How much longer, Mr. Bates? It feels as though I’ve been waiting forever.” She hated the complaining sound in her voice and wished she could take the question back as soon as she’d said it.

But Mr. Bates moved forward and took her in his arms, cradling her head against his chest. “Soon. I promise, as soon as it can possibly be.”

And that would have to be good enough, Anna told herself stoutly. She had waited this long, what was a little longer?


	75. No Service

_September 1917_

The knot of unhappy people at the bus stop made Anna nervous as she approached with quick steps. “What is it?” she asked the first one, a farmer in a battered grey hat.

“Bus i’n’t runnin’ today, they say.”

Anna didn’t bother to ask who “they” were. A few moments of listening to the other members of the crowd mutter told her that several of them had been waiting for more than an hour, and there was no indication of any buses coming. She settled in to wait like the others, hoping against hope that a bus would come chugging ‘round the corner any minute … but as the time ticked by, the shorter and shorter grew the time she would be able to spend in Kirkbymoorside, even if she got there at all. At last, heavy-hearted, she turned and trudged back to the village, hoping to at least accomplish a few of her long-neglected personal errands before she had to go back to Downton.

It was ridiculous to be this disappointed, she told herself. She’d seen Mr. Bates every Wednesday since she’d discovered him in the Red Lion; she would no doubt see him again next week. It wasn’t as though they were to be kept apart with no contact for months on end. But she felt disconsolate, choking back a flood of tears heavier than any she’d shed since Mr. Bates had first left Downton nearly a year ago. What would he think, when she didn’t come? Surely he would know the bus wasn’t running, but if he didn’t think of it? If he thought she’d grown tired of waiting for him? As if she could, but there was no convincing Mr. Bates of that, not for sure.

As she stood in line at the post office, waiting to mail a long-overdue letter to her mum, she thought of his face and the joy that filled it every time he saw her. That was worth waiting an extra week for, surely. Next Wednesday she would rush into his arms and feel them fold her close, even if she couldn’t today.

Still, she thought, returning to Downton with steps much slower and heavier than those she had left with, it would be a long, dark, lonely week ahead of her without his smiles and his voice to cheer it for her.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Bates paced back and forth in front of the counter.

“Will ye stop that? Ye’ll wear holes in the floor,” his friend Acheson complained good-naturedly as he wiped a set of glasses. “Better yet, come and do these for me so I can haul up some boxes from the cellar. Give you somethin’ to do while ye wait for that little lass of yours.”

Why was he surprised that the other man knew all about Anna? They hadn’t exactly hidden their feelings—he couldn’t, not when she was around. The topic hadn’t been brought up between the two men, but Acheson had clearly noticed. Bates was torn between nervousness that somehow Vera would find out he had been meeting Anna again, and pride that other people knew such an extraordinary woman was his.

Or was she? Surely she should be here by now, if she was coming. He took Acheson’s suggestion and went behind the counter, mechanically lifting and wiping glass after glass without noticing that it was the same one each time. Acheson did, though, when he came up, and he took the glass from Bates’s hand. “I should’ve known better. Go and see, then. Maybe something’s happened to the bus, broke down on the way or some such.”

Gratefully he lifted his cane and limped out the door. He hadn’t thought of the bus having a problem. Or an accident! Sudden panic filled him. What if it had had an accident with his Anna on it? If she was hurt, or— He caught himself before he could think any further, telling himself that he was just being silly.

The people gathered by the bus stop assured him there had been no service that day, for unknown reasons. He limped back to the Red Lion feeling crushed and down-hearted. He wanted to believe it was just the bus, but what if she hadn’t even been on it, if she had tired of his everlasting marital problems stopping her from living the life she deserved? If only he could call her, pick up the phone and dial Downton and hear her cheerful voice down the wire. But he daren’t. Not even once.

He would simply have to wait until next Wednesday, hoping and praying that somehow she still saw fit to tie herself to a damaged, married, hopeless man such as he.


	76. Who Holds the Cards

_September 1917_

“Well, Jack, you seem to think you have me where you want me.” Vera stared at him from across the table. She was impeccably dressed—men’s heads had turned all over the pub when she walked in. He had to admit, she was still a handsome woman.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said. “What do you want, Vera?”

“We’ve been over this. I want to be Mrs. John Bates, a respectable woman living with her husband. Happily married. And I won’t rest until I get it.” She leaned across the table, speaking in a low, breathy whisper that once upon a time would have thrilled him. “I think we both know which of us has the most patience, don’t we, Batesy? You think now that this pale Anna person is worth waiting for, but sooner or later she’ll get tired of holding on for you, or you’ll grow weary of tying your life to the stake of martyrdom and want some excitement, or that famous temper of yours will get you in trouble.” She smiled, a slow, cruel smile. “I know which of those I’m betting on.”

He shivered with a sudden chill, even though it was quite warm in the pub. She knew him too well. Clenching his fist, he looked away from Vera’s predatory eyes, thinking instead of Anna’s. The memory of Anna’s lovely face, of her kind eyes and her honesty and her gentleness—and of her fierce determination and her loyalty—drew him out of the spell Vera had been trying to weave. “You don’t know me at all. Once I was all those things you said, but I am not that man any longer. I keep trying to tell you that.”

“Do you? Or are you trying to tell yourself? If you say it often enough, will you believe it?” Vera bit her lip suddenly, looking away. Her face seemed pale, almost pasty, for a moment. But then she took a deep breath and looked back at him, and the moment passed. Bates forgot it almost as soon as it had happened. “Look here, Jack, we both know who holds the cards here, and it isn’t you, and it isn’t your precious Anna.”

“Don’t you dare to say her name again.”

He’d meant to be intimidating, but he should have known better. Vera laughed. “You see? You can’t get through a sentence without losing your temper.” She nodded at his fist, white-knuckled on the table. “What will you do to me if I say it again? Anna. Anna. Anna, Anna, Anna!”

Abruptly, he stood up, the chair toppling over behind him. Bracing both hands flat on the table, he leaned across it, looking his wife in the eye. “I will have a divorce,” he said, slowly and forcefully.

A very small smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she stared at him. “Over my dead body.”


	77. Impatient

_September 1917_

“Another few months,” Mr. Bates said. He squeezed Anna’s hands, looking into her eyes intently. “I promise. Just let me get her calmed down, and she will see reason.”

Anna nodded, not trusting her voice. At the bus driver’s impatient honk of the horn, she drew her hands from Mr. Bates’s, grateful for once to be leaving before he saw the hurt and disappointment she knew she couldn’t hide. She was glad for the bus ride, her face turned away from her seat mate and toward the window. Tears blurred her vision and she forced them back. Another visit, more excuses, more delay. What distressed her the most was the complete lack of urgency in Mr. Bates’s demeanour. Wasn’t he as impatient as she was? Didn’t he ache—literally, sometimes, physically ache—for them to be together as man and wife, the way Anna did? If it had been she in that situation, things would be resolved by now. She wouldn’t have been able to stand it otherwise. So what was he waiting for?

Deep inside her, Anna could feel a sickening slithering sensation, the manifestation of her doubts. After all these years, he still wouldn’t fight for them. He had allowed himself to be drawn into this relationship against his will; at the first sign of trouble, he had folded and toddled obediently along after his wife; now he was content to sit apart from Anna and wait and wait and wait on Vera’s convenience. Anna couldn’t understand it—how could he bear these endless delays, these endless partings, this endless separation? The thought that perhaps he didn’t share her impatience and her longings was inescapable. But it was also unworthy of him, she reminded herself. After all, he had left Vera. He had come to Kirkbymoorside; he had come to the village looking for Anna, even if he hadn’t intended to be seen. That had to mean something, didn’t it? And he said he loved her. He looked at her as though he loved her; he touched her as though he loved her.

Holding that thought close to her heart, Anna considered Mr. Bates’s character. He was strong and forceful, but generally only with men, and then more physically than anything else. He had tried to intimidate Thomas physically, once, she remembered, and had been surprised when the tactic hadn’t worked on the insolent footman. Meanwhile, Thomas had nearly outmaneuvered Mr. Bates several times through deviousness and backstabbing—tactics that Mr. Bates was too honest and straightforward to anticipate.

Anna recalled that she had been the one to outwit Thomas in those previous cases, and they had all known it. Perhaps that was the trouble here—Vera knew Mr. Bates well enough to be able to trick her way around his methods of argument and persuasion, and she apparently wasn’t as tempted by the money as Mr. Bates had expected she would be. Oh, if only Anna herself could go and meet Vera! She was sure if she only could, she could determine a way around the other woman that would never occur to Mr. Bates. But Vera would be on her guard against that; even if Anna could ever manage to meet her, she would never be able to learn enough about Vera to outwit the other woman.

She slumped back against the bus seat in defeat. There was nothing for it but to wait and trust that Mr. Bates could eventually accomplish the task. But, oh, how long the days stretched out until there was a chance that he might prevail.


	78. As Patiently as We Can

_October 1917_

Mr. Bates squeezed Anna’s hand as they stood waiting for the bus. He looked up at the sky, frowning. “It will be awfully dark by the time you get back. Will you be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, not wanting him to pursue the topic.

“I don’t like you walking in the dark.”

“I’ll be fine,” Anna repeated more forcefully.

He clearly wasn’t convinced. “I think it might be time for you to stop coming here on your afternoons out.”

It was just what she had feared he would say. An icy fist seemed to close around Anna’s heart. “Are you—are you saying you don’t want to see me any more? Did something happen with—with the divorce?”

“What? No.” Mr. Bates looked down at her in confusion. Her fears must have shown on her face, because he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Because—you went away before. I don’t think I could bear it if you went away again, or if I couldn’t see you again.” She blinked back tears.

“I’m not going to do that again, I promise you that.” He drew her a bit away from the others waiting for the bus, into the growing shadows, and pulled her into his arms.

Anna rested her head against his waistcoat, wishing she never had to leave. “I won’t stop seeing you, Mr. Bates. If I have to take a leave of absence from Downton and spend my savings staying here, I’m not going to go the whole winter without this. I can’t.”

“Leaving aside how unsafe it is, people will talk, if you keep coming home after dark. There will be questions. People at Downton might find out where you’ve been going.”

“And why shouldn’t they?” Anna snapped impatiently. “Perhaps you should come to Downton instead.”

“No. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“His Lordship and I parted … badly. I let him down. I couldn’t face him again.”

“You’d rather face not seeing me for an entire winter?”

He cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her skin. “I would give my right arm not to be parted from you again.” He leaned down, capturing her lips with his, and Anna’s irritation melted away under the taste and feel of his mouth on hers.

They broke apart at the distant sound of the bus motor, Anna looking hastily over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen them embrace in the shadows. “I could talk to Lord Grantham for you,” she whispered hastily. “I could explain—“

“No, don’t, please. If anyone explains, it should be me, and I can’t. Not yet. If Vera knew I’d been seeing you, if she thought I was trying to go back to Downton …”

Anna could feel him shiver, and her estimation of the situation shifted. He wasn’t merely reluctant to push things—he appeared to be actually afraid of his wife. That wasn’t good. “What would she do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to find out.”

“You said she knew things, that she would tell what she knew. Is that all?”

“I hope so, but … Vera’s unpredictable. And determined. And willing to do just about anything to get what she wants.”

Well, that makes two of us, Anna thought. “So what do we do?”

“Keep going as we’re going. Wait, as patiently as we can. Which is not very. Anna …” He kissed her again, quickly, but with great longing.

The bus was pulling to a stop. “I’ll see you next week, Mr. Bates.” She hurried to it, taking her seat and waving to him out the window. Only as the bus pulled away, its lights switching on in the growing darkness, did she realize they had never resolved the issue of whether she should stop coming for the winter. And if she had her way, that’s how it would stand, she vowed determinedly. Nothing was going to keep her from him—not ever again.


	79. Something Up with Her

_October 1917_

Anna moved quickly down the hallway, intent on her duties, but with a warm glow in her heart. Yesterday’s visit with Mr. Bates had been so lovely—a beautiful fall day spent together, hand in hand, talking a little and laughing a little, and secure in their love. She paused and blushed at her own romanticism. Such a change from her usual practical point of view.

Voices broke into her thoughts, and she slowed down, hearing her own name. Thomas, as usual, was lounging in the staff dining room, smoking a cigarette and spouting nonsense, as Mr. Bates would have called it were he here.

“You don’t think Anna could be doing anything wrong, do you?” Daisy asked slowly. The kitchen maid’s fascination with Thomas had mostly passed, but occasionally she still fell under the influence of his self-assuredness.

“What’s she doing running off every Wednesday, then? No, there’s something up with her.”

“It’s her day out,” Daisy objected.

“’Course it is. But she never used to take it. Here she’s been moping about for ages after that old cripple—“

“Don’t talk about Mr. Bates that way! He was a nice man.”

Anna’s heart warmed to Daisy for standing up for him. She itched to be able to punch Thomas in the face for his disrespect … and just for being Thomas.

“Suddenly she’s going about with a song and a smile every day,” Thomas continued as if Daisy had never interrupted. “Doesn’t seem right, does it? After she broke poor old Molesley’s heart by refusing to go out with him.”

Poor Mr. Molesley indeed, Anna thought. She still felt guilty every time she saw him.

“Got herself a fancy man, do you think?” Sure enough, Miss O’Brien couldn’t keep herself out of the conversation. “Sweet little Anna, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth?”

There was an eloquent silence, broken only by the sound of Thomas taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Someone ought to find Mr. Bates and tell him.”

“Or his wife.”

Anna could imagine the look Thomas and Miss O’Brien must have shared, only too well.

“Here now, don’t you all have anything better to do than sit around here and speculate about things that aren’t any of your business?” Mrs. Patmore’s scolding voice burst in, and Anna smiled at it. She sounded as though she were scattering a bunch of chickens. “You, Daisy, get back to the kitchen and worry about your own affairs.”

“Yes, Mrs. Patmore.”

Anna turned around, going back the way she’d come so no one would know she had been listening, and nearly leaped out of her skin when she saw Mrs. Hughes standing behind her.

“Eavesdroppers rarely hear good things about themselves.” The housekeeper looked closely at Anna.

“I know that, Mrs. Hughes. I won’t do it again.”

“Is there anything you want to talk about, Anna?”

“No, I’m all right. Just … have to get back to the laundry.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Quite sure. I’m perfectly fine.”

Mrs. Hughes stepped aside. “If you ever do have anything you want to talk about, my door is always open.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I’ll remember that.” Anna hurried past the housekeeper, looking down to hide her reddened face. It hadn’t occurred to her that her movements would be a topic of interest, or concern, to others. She’d just have to be more discreet … and come up with a good reason for her trips to Kirkbymoorside.


	80. Dear Mum

_November 1917_

_Dear Anna_ , the letter began.

_It seems so long since I have heard much from you, and when you do write, you don’t sound like your usual self at all. Is something going wrong in your work, or is it something more? If you need to come home, we’ll find a way to make room for you, don’t ever worry about that. You’ve always seemed so happy there before that we never worried about you. I know you were sad when your friend Mr. Bates left, but that was a good year ago now—surely you’ve found someone else to have a laugh with by now. Do write soon._  
Love,  
Mum 

Anna felt a pang of guilt. She’d been so busy back and forth to Kirkbymoorside that she had barely had time to write a line or two to her mother, much less get them in the post regularly. And she supposed her recent letters must have sounded as distracted as her letters before finding Mr. Bates again had sounded lost and alone. She had never dared to write her mother about the situation. The only time she had thought about doing so, in those heady days of happiness when they thought it would all be so simple and they could marry relatively quickly, she hadn’t found the time … and then he’d been gone and she simply hadn’t had the heart to tell her mother what a mess things had become.

Now, though … now she felt her mother deserved to know what was going on. She hurried to her room at the first chance she got.

_Dear Mum,_  
I’m sorry to have worried you. You’re right, I was sad for a long time last year after Mr. Bates went away, but I’m not so sad now, and I think I should tell you the whole story. You see, we intend to be married as soon as we can. (No, there’s no particular reason to rush, stop thinking what you’re thinking.) It’s just that we’ve been waiting such a long time. I didn’t want to tell you about it before because Mr. Bates is married, and has been since before he came to Downton, but unhappily so. He thought for a time that he could get a divorce easily, and then it seemed that he might not be able to, which is why he went away, and now he thinks he can again. I know it must sound very precarious and very foolish to you, but I hope that you will trust me that I know what I am doing. He is a good man, so warm and kind and intelligent, and I could never love anyone the way I love him. While that doesn’t always mean that I am happy, it does always mean that I have known something very beautiful, and I would not change anything … except to hurry his wife along toward that divorce!  
I’m sure you have questions, and I’m ready to answer any and all. It feels good to have told you the truth, and I promise not to keep anything else from you.  
Your loving daughter,  
Anna

She looked at it for a moment, wondering what her mother would think. They had always shared the same practical turn of mind, and Mum would no doubt think Anna had gone off her rocker a bit to let her heart dictate to her head this way, but she couldn’t help it, and she wouldn’t if she could. Anna knew exactly where she belonged and who she belonged with, and she was determined that nothing would get in the way of that again.


	81. Men

_January 1918_

It had been a long, cold day. Snow lay deep on the ground, and soldiers, nurses, staff, and family alike were tired of being cooped up and a little snappish.

Lady Mary shifted restlessly under Anna’s hands at the dressing table. She wasn’t much of a fidgeter usually. Anna moved the curling iron away from Lady Mary’s hair to avoid any accidents. “What is it, my lady?”

“Will it never get warm?” 

“Spring and summer are sure to follow winter. They’ve never failed to before.”

“Don’t spout platitudes at me, Anna.”

Their eyes met in the mirror, and they exchanged a smile, apologetic on Lady Mary’s part and understanding on Anna’s. Sir Richard had been in residence for several days, his return to London delayed by bad weather, and Sir Richard and the Grantham family together were difficult for Lady Mary to take.

“They say there’s a thaw expected within the next few days,” Anna offered. She didn’t know if ‘they’ actually did say that, but it seemed as likely to be true as not.

“Do they?” Lady Mary’s amused look said she suspected Anna’s little fib. “Well, let’s hope they’re right.”

“Will you go up to London, then, my lady?”

“Oh, possibly. But probably not for another week or so. I’ll need some breathing room.” She studied herself judiciously in the mirror. “More curls on this side, Anna.”

“Only if you’ll hold still.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment while Anna concentrated on looping the hair around the iron just so.

“Have you been seeing Bates recently?”

The question took Anna by surprise—they hadn’t discussed her meetings with Mr. Bates in some time. “When I can. The weather and the short days make it difficult.”

“Doesn’t he ever have a day off at the pub?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Then why doesn’t he come here? Surely Carson and Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t mind him visiting.”

“He doesn’t feel comfortable, my lady.”

“After the way he left, I can imagine. Still.”

Anna released the hair, arranging the resulting curl pleasingly. “He’s afraid his wife will find out he’s been seeing me.”

“What could she do?”

“He won’t say. But I think he’s afraid of her.” Oh, but it felt good to talk about this! She could never have talked to Ethel, and certainly not to Daisy or Miss O’Brien. Anna supposed she could have confided in Mrs. Hughes, but she wasn’t naturally of a confiding nature, preferring to shoulder her own burdens. Lady Mary’s direct questions unlocked a response in Anna that would never have come out on her own.

“She must be quite a woman.”

“You could say that, my lady.” Anna would have used a few other words, but those weren’t words a lady like Lady Mary ought to know, much less hear from her maid. “Mr. Bates is worried about his reception here, as well. He left Lord Grantham so hurriedly, and they parted poorly.”

“Yes, I believe they did. But surely Bates could explain that?”

“He doesn’t want to—I think it’s embarrassing for him.”

Lady Mary made a noise of impatience. “Men. They’re worse than women in not doing things because they’re uncomfortable. Where would they be if we didn’t step in and get things done for them?”

Anna chuckled. “I quite agree.”

“Shall I speak with Papa on Bates’s behalf?”

“No, thank you, my lady. It’s something he’ll need to do, if—when he resolves things with his wife.”

“Very well. But if the situation changes, you know I hope you will tell me.”

Anna was touched. “Thank you, my lady.”

Lady Mary rose from the table, turning to look at Anna with a small, sardonic smile on her face. “After all, one of us deserves to have a happy ending.” She looked at the door with empty eyes. “Time for my nightly torment.”


	82. Out in the Open

_March 1918_

Anna had been in the midst of the morning’s cleaning when the summons came to attend Lord Grantham in his library, and her head was still full of the tasks remaining on her list as she knocked on the door and opened it.

He put down a letter, saying, “Ah, good morning, Anna.”

“You sent for me, my lord?”

“I did. Come in.” He paused, as though looking for words. “I have something to tell you. I hope I’m right; Carson didn’t want you to be troubled with it.”

And she knew. Not for the first time, Anna felt a pang of guilt over having kept Mr. Bates’s whereabouts a secret from his lordship for the better part of a year. They had discussed it many times, but the conversations always ended with Mr. Bates asserting that he couldn’t face Lord Grantham again after the way they had parted, and he couldn’t take the chance of being seen at Downton again, and she could not shake him from those two thoughts. Asking his lordship to journey to the Red Lion on Mr. Bates’s behalf would have been equally unthinkable on both counts, so they had been forced to leave things lie. Anna had swallowed her renewed happiness as best she could, hoping the rest of the household would think she was simply getting used to her fate. She had felt uncomfortable lying to them, but it had seemed to be for the best. Now she would have to confess to his lordship, and she didn’t relish the task. “Is … this about Mr. Bates, my lord?”

“Yes, it is. I’ve no wish to upset you, but it seems he may be back in Yorkshire working at a public house. We don’t yet know where.” He was watching her closely, clearly concerned about her reaction. Anna had always admired Lord Grantham for his consideration—not many men in his position would be taking such trouble over a housemaid’s feelings, especially given the messy legalities of Mr. Bates’s situation and the abrupt and embarrassing way he had left Downton.

So she didn’t prevaricate. After all this time, the generous and thoughtful man in front of her deserved to know the truth. “The Red Lion. In Kirkbymoorside.”

Startled, Lord Grantham froze for a second. “Oh.” He moved towards her, cautiously, as though she was a wild animal who might flee if he got too close, and Anna wondered yet again what had occurred between his lordship and Mr. Bates in the war to make them mean so much to one another. “You’ve seen him, then?”

“I have. Yes, my lord.”

“And he’s well?”

“He is.” She couldn’t help but smile. It felt so good to be able to admit her feelings again. Lord Grantham looked so hurt, and puzzled, that she quickly smothered the smile and hurried into an explanation. “He’s not been back to Downton for two reasons.” Lord Grantham looked interested, but Anna hesitated. It seemed such a betrayal to have to reveal the embarrassing details to his lordship in Mr. Bates’s absence. But she really had no choice. “He’s hoping to settle … certain matters … first. With Mrs. Bates.”

Lord Grantham nodded, understanding. “And does he think he can?”

“He believes so, my lord.”

“Very good. And what is his second reason for avoiding us?”

“He says he parted with your lordship on bad terms. He felt it might be embarrassing.” She was very curious to see his lordship’s reaction to that, having wondered all along if he truly felt as bitter as Mr. Bates was sure he must.

“It is for me to feel embarrassed.”

Anna didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept quiet.

“I take it you will see him again?”

“Yes.”

“If it should happen to come up, please, assure him that he need feel no discomfort about returning here at any time that he thinks it’s wise. We would be happy to see him.”

“Thank you, my lord. I know it will be a relief to him to know that.”

Lord Grantham nodded, letting her know she was dismissed, and Anna bobbed a curtsey and turned to go. She stopped at the door as Lord Grantham called her name.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I am glad the two of you have … reconnected. It has been good to see you smile about your work these past few months.” He gave a rueful smile. “I suppose I should have known from that that Mr. Bates had returned to the area.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She closed the door behind her as she left, her heart light. While nothing had changed, precisely, it was such a relief to have things out in the open that it felt like a step forward.


	83. Her Ladyship's Remarks

_March 1918_

Anna hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation at the meal. Everyone had been fairly quiet, anyway, and she was thinking about her next afternoon out and hoping it would be fine so she and Mr. Bates could go on a walk.

Then she heard the name that had been in her thoughts on Lord Grantham’s lips, as his lordship said to a sudden silence at the table, “I’m told Bates is working at a public house, in Kirkbymoorside. I want to investigate.”

Mr. Carson stopped short as he was refilling Lady Grantham’s water glass, both of them staring at Lord Grantham—as indeed was everyone at the table, with the exception of Lady Mary, whose eyes were on Anna, steady and supportive.

“I can’t decide which part of that speech is the most extraordinary,” the dowager said. “Why can’t someone else go?”

“Because I want to go myself,” Lord Grantham answered.

Another silence fell on the table before everyone fell to on their meals again. The dowager leaned towards Lady Sybil. “So, Sybil, what are you up to, dear?”

“Nothing much. Working. I don’t have time to get up to anything else.”

Anna filled Lady Sybil’s wine glass, feeling a bit sorry for the youngest of the Crawley girls. Lady Sybil wanted so badly to be accepted for who she was—and didn’t understand the threat that she represented to her elders’ way of life. To Anna’s as well, for that matter, but that was of less import. If life at Downton changed, Anna would change with it, as she always had.

“Only Mary and I were talking about you the other day,” the dowager went on.

Lady Mary looked up from her meal, her eyes widening.

“Oh?” Lady Sybil and Lady Mary shared a glance, accusatory on Lady Sybil’s side and rather confused on Lady Mary’s. She seemed to be denying her sister’s accusation, whatever it was.

“You see, sometimes in war, one can make friendships that aren’t quite … appropriate,” their grandmother said.

Anna was glad for her training, because otherwise she would have gasped as she realized what was actually being discussed. Poor Mr. Branson. If the dowager found out how far the situation had gone, at least on Tom’s side, she would see to it that he lost his place. Anna was the last person to recommend that someone give up the person they loved … but Tom’s situation was a precarious one. She hoped he knew what he was doing.

The dowager was still speaking. “It can be awkward, you know, later on. I mean, we’ve all done it. I just want you to be on your guard.”

But Lady Sybil was not to be so easily cowed. “Appropriate for whom?”

For a wonder, the older woman backed off the topic. “Well, don’t jump down my throat, dear. I’m only offering friendly advice.”

Just as Anna thought perhaps all the awkward conversations of that meal might have come to an end, she heard Lady Grantham’s voice, raised above the rest. “Why do you want to see Bates? To give him his old job back?”

Anna’s heart lifted. Oh, please, she thought. Let Lord Grantham go to Mr. Bates and talk to him, make him see that he belonged here. She didn’t care any longer what Vera knew or didn’t know.

“Not entirely,” Lord Grantham replied. “I really want to see him because we parted badly.”

Mr. Carson broke in from the doorway. “Telephone call for you, my lord.”

As his lordship got hastily to his feet, wiping his lips on a napkin, Lady Grantham muttered, “If you did, I’m sure it’s his fault.”

He fixed her with a look that Anna couldn’t see, as he was still facing toward her ladyship. “No,” he said, quietly and assuredly. “It was mine.” And he hurried from the room; the sound of the soldiers came into the otherwise quiet dining room as he went.

As Anna tried not to glare at Lady Grantham, the dowager sighed. “Really. It’s like living in a second-rate hotel, where the guests keep arriving and no one seems to leave.”

There was no response to that from the rest of the table, and Anna focused on her work as best she could while wondering if Lord Grantham would really convince Mr. Bates to come home. She couldn’t blame Lady Grantham entirely for assuming the worst of Mr. Bates—on the face of it, he deserved such an assumption. But she couldn’t keep herself from feeling a bit bitter about her ladyship’s attitude. If Lord Grantham prized Mr. Bates’s company so much, why couldn’t his wife give Mr. Bates the benefit of the doubt? Perhaps it was because Miss O’Brien kept pouring her poison thoughts into her ladyship’s ear, Anna surmised, but it didn’t make her feel any more charitable about her ladyship’s remarks.


	84. Oh, the War

_March 1918_

“Anna, his lordship has asked you to go see him once you’re finished with Lady Mary,” Mrs. Hughes said breathlessly as she hurried past.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Do I look like his lordship?” the housekeeper called back.

There was no arguing with that. Anna resigned herself to living with curiosity—although she assumed that it must have to do with Lord Grantham’s announced visit to see Mr. Bates tomorrow. Her insides churned with excitement and nerves. Would he bring Mr. Bates back with him? Would Mr. Bates receive him in the proper spirit, or would embarrassment constrain the reunion?

Once Lady Mary was tucked in bed for the night with a book and a glass of warm milk, Anna went to Lord and Lady Grantham’s room, hoping it wasn’t too late. Of course, Mrs. Hughes had said after she was done with Lady Mary, so presumably … She knocked before she could work herself into a tizzy.

“Anna?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do come in.”

He was sitting in his dressing gown at the foot of the bed, while Lady Grantham sat back against the pillows.

“You asked to see me, my lord.”

“Yes. I know you must have heard me announce at dinner that I intend to see Mr. Bates tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lord.” Anna steadfastly refused to let her glance stray to Lady Grantham. Whether her ladyship looked properly abashed at the realization that Anna had heard her remarks about Mr. Bates or not, Anna didn’t want to see it in her face.

“This is very delicate, but … If I were to ask Mr. Bates to return to Downton and take up his old job, that would not cause you to be … er, uncomfortable, would it?”

“No, my lord. The very opposite—there’s nothing I could wish for that would make me happier.” Well, the divorce, certainly, but even a married Mr. Bates at Downton was better than no Mr. Bates at all.

“Good. And the … understanding between the two of you, that still remains?”

Anna nodded, almost afraid to trust her voice.

“Very well. Do you—do you think he’ll agree to come back?”

“I hope so, my lord. He’s a very stubborn man, as you know.” They shared a smile, that of two people fond of the same person despite his exasperating traits. “But if your lordship asks … I don’t see how he could refuse.”

“Thank you, Anna. I hope you’re right.” He stood up, escorting her to the door. “Wish me luck.”

“Oh, I do, your lordship.”

Lady Grantham didn’t even wait until the door was closed, which kept Anna from feeling any guilt at all over standing in the hallway to hear the conversation.

“Robert, you can’t mean to bring that man and his tawdry problems back here.”

“I can and I do. His ‘tawdry problems’, as you term them, are breaking Anna’s heart, if you haven’t noticed, and Anna has been very loyal.”

Take that, Anna thought. Lady Grantham knew better than anyone how far Anna’s loyalty had extended.

“Well, naturally I feel badly for Anna, but really, he never could do the job in the first place. He’s been suspected of theft, he’s embarrassed us in front of our guests, he’s embroiled Downton in this messy and unseemly divorce …”

“You have my word on it that those things cause him far more discomfort and embarrassment than they cause us!” his lordship snapped. “Bates was loyal to me in the war—“

“Oh, the war,” Lady Grantham said dismissively.

“I owe my life to him, Cora. A man doesn’t forget a debt like that over petty annoyances. He’s a good man who has worked hard to lift himself out of a very dark place, and I intend to offer him a home here at Downton as many times as I have to to make him see that I mean it. Bates is my friend, Cora, despite the ‘great divide’, and I want him here.”

There was silence in the room, and Anna moved quickly and quietly away from the door. She’d always wondered what Lady Grantham had against Mr. Bates, other than his lame leg and the poison words of Miss O’Brien, but now she thought she saw. It was the very relationship between Mr. Bates and Lord Grantham, forged in the fires of war far from her side, that embittered her ladyship. She couldn’t share the history they had between them, and she didn’t understand it, and that threatened her. Anna felt strangely sorry for the older woman—her life suddenly seemed very lonely.

But soon Lady Grantham’s feelings were forgotten in Anna’s imaginings of what Mr. Bates and his lordship would say to one another—and how it would be when Mr. Bates was home at Downton where he belonged.


	85. The Housekeeper's Feelings

_March 1918_

Anna had never been fond of Ethel. The girl did as little work as she could get away with, and complained about what she did do. She was sly, she sneered at the other servants … but she was devastated by being turned away from Downton, and clearly didn’t know where else she could go. Anna felt it was the least she could do to ask Mrs. Hughes if something could be done on the other maid’s behalf.

She found the housekeeper unusually closed off when she broached the topic. “Leave it alone, Anna.”

Perhaps she should have, but she felt for the girl. She hated to see someone sent out into the cold, friendless and alone. “I know Ethel can be difficult, Mrs. Hughes, but she was very sorry for her mistake, whatever it was.”

“I’m sure. It’s cost her her job.” There was cold anger in Mrs. Hughes’s voice, and she didn’t even turn to look at Anna while she spoke.

“But surely it can’t—“

“Never mind why she’s gone—she’s gone.” With a vicious stab of her pen Mrs. Hughes underscored the finality of her words. “And there’s an end to it. By the way …” Now she did turn, her eyes cold and her face set. “I hear Mr. Bates is back in the county. Mr. Carson says you know all about it.”

Faced with the disappointment of this woman she so looked up to, Anna forgot Ethel’s problems. She had no doubt the other girl had done something to deserve them, if it had earned this level of anger from Mrs. Hughes, who was so generous and understanding in most situations. She didn’t know what to say. She should have told Mrs. Hughes about Mr. Bates, if not because of their working relationship then because she should have known Mrs. Hughes would want to know how he was. Anna had been so happy to have him back, so bent on keeping her happiness to herself and not letting on, that she hadn’t stopped to think about the other people who cared about Mr. Bates and would want to know how he was faring. It had been so important to him to keep his whereabouts secret, though. She hardly saw how she could have respected his wishes and the housekeeper’s feelings at the same time.

When Anna didn’t respond, Mrs. Hughes continued, “I gather his lordship has gone to see him.”

“I know. He told me he was going.”

“Why in heaven’s name didn’t you mention any of it to me?” For the moment, they weren’t housekeeper and maid; they were two women, friends, and Anna could tell Mrs. Hughes was hurt by the omission.

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” she said simply.

Mrs. Hughes sighed. “I can see that. I suppose. Is he well?”

“Yes, he is.”

“And still married?”

Anna nodded.

“I see. I don’t suppose that has made any difference to you?”

Tears stung Anna’s eyes, and she shook her head. “It never could.”

Mrs. Hughes’s eyes widened as at a sudden thought, and she sat forward in her chair. “Is there anything Mr. Carson and I should be worried about?”

Anna could feel herself flush as she caught the implication behind the question. “No,” she said emphatically. “Nothing at all.”

The housekeeper’s relief was evident. “Good. Do you think Mr. Bates will come back with his lordship?”

“Oh, I do hope so.”

“So do I. It would be a relief to have him back.” Mrs. Hughes stood up, reaching for Anna’s hand and squeezing it. “You’ve borne up remarkably well under all this, you know. I wish you had told me … but I understand why you didn’t. If there’s anything I can do for you, or for Mr. Bates, going forward, you will let me know?”

“Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I really am.”

“I know.” Mrs. Hughes ushered her to the door. “I miss him, too. I’m glad to know he’s well. And that you’re happy.”


	86. Cock of the Walk

_March 1918_

Anna could hear the discussion in the servants’ dining room as she came down the hallway. Poor Daisy—she was worried enough about William without Miss O’Brien helping her to face facts for her own good. Personally, Anna inclined toward Mrs. Hughes’s view of the situation: best wait until you knew the bad news for sure to start mourning the lost. There would be time enough then, if it were necessary. No sense wasting energy crying until you had to.

She was going to walk straight past without going in, meaning to comfort Daisy later and not get drawn into a wrangle with Thomas and Miss O’Brien right now, but Mrs. Hughes met her in the doorway.

“Anna, do you think that Mr. Bates will come back?”

“That’s for him to say.” Much as she wanted him here, she had to trust that whatever decision he made would be the right one.

Daisy went past, offering Anna a smile. “I hope he does. He always seems a romantic figure to me.”

Anna couldn’t help but smile in return. How young Daisy seemed, sometimes, but her heart was in the right place.

“Mercy,” muttered Miss O’Brien, just loud enough to be heard. “How do you define ‘romantic’?”

“It’s no good him thinkin’ he can turn up here without a moment’s notice and be cock of the walk,” Thomas responded.

“Why is that, Thomas?” Mrs. Hughes asked sharply. “Because the place is already taken?” She turned her back, leaving the room, and Anna took a seat after all, rather enjoying the sour looks on the faces across from her. Unpleasant as Thomas and O’Brien were, she wouldn’t be run off by their attitude. Especially since they all knew that if Mr. Bates did come back, it would be at the request of Lord Grantham … a request Thomas was never likely to be at the receiving end of.

Oh, let him come back with his lordship, she thought. If only to see the look on Thomas’s face.


	87. Come Back with Me

_March 1918_

Bates was hard put to know how to feel these days. On the one hand, with the weather warming and the days lengthening, he was seeing Anna more regularly now, and her comforting presence and cheerful smile always brightened his days. On the other hand, Vera kept dragging her feet, and somehow she never seemed any closer to agreeing to the divorce he so longed for.

It was Vera on the top of his mind as he dried the clean glasses. The pub was closed, and the night was closing in on him, leaving him alone with his darkest thoughts. The door opened behind him, the bells’ merry jingle grating on his nerves. “We’re closed,” he said with irritation, not bothering to turn around. But the door closed without the intruder leaving, and he did turn, wondering who needed a drink so badly as to come at this hour of the night. He was shocked to see the familiar face of Robert Crawley. “My lord.”

“Please, Bates, none of that formality,” his lordship said impatiently.

“How did you find me?” It never crossed his mind to suspect Anna of having told anyone; but how else?

“Thomas got a letter from a friend, apparently, and you know how news travels.”

“Yes.” Thomas, indeed. Why was the ex-footman still interested in his whereabouts, Bates wondered. To gloat, perhaps? “I am sorry … I should have informed you …” Should he have? He couldn’t decide.

“No, no. Anna explained to me why you didn’t. Bates … I owe you an apology. I thought the worst of you, against all my experiences with you, and that was not what you deserved. I should have been more understanding.”

“You had no reason to think better of me, my lord—I deserved every word.”

“You did not,” Lord Grantham said with finality. “You most certainly did not. And that’s the end of it. I am sorry for what I said; I had no idea what you were going through. I hope in future you know that you can tell me, can call on me if you need any assistance at all.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Bates said, moved almost to tears by his former employer’s generosity. “Please.” He gestured toward the bar, pulling up a stool so his lordship could be comfortable.

“Now, tell me. You’ve been seeing Anna?”

“Yes, my lord.” He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “You spoke with her?”

“I did. She tells me you think you might be able to secure a divorce?”

“I … think so, yes. With patience.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But Carson said your wife made all sorts of threats.”

So that was the reason behind Lord Grantham’s change of heart. But how had Carson known? Bates was torn between feeling embarrassed that the depth of Vera’s wickedness was known and being relieved that he didn’t have to explain the reasoning behind his decision to leave Downton. “She won’t carry them out,” he assured his lordship. “Not now. Since I left Downton I’ve discovered that she was …” He hesitated over the word, given his own situation. “Untrue to me.” His lordship raised an eyebrow, his unspoken comment clear. “I may have been as bad in my heart, my lord, but I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,” Bates hastened to assure his former employer, as anxious to protect Anna’s reputation as he was to defend himself. “The point is, I can divorce her now whether she likes it or not.”

“But what’s to stop her blurting out her stories to the press?”

“If she agrees to keep silent, I will give her whatever she wants. She can’t hold me now, so her choice is between poverty and plenty.”

“And what was the tale she was going to tell? Carson never made it clear.”

If Carson hadn’t, Bates certainly would not. He only had the outlines of the story, anyway, and would not see Lady Mary sullied in her father’s eyes over some piece of gossip many times removed. “Some … silly nonsense, my lord. I wouldn’t waste your time with it.” Of course, that begged the question of why the silly nonsense had been worth his own dramatic exit, but he hoped his lordship wouldn’t feel the need to press him about it. To forestall any further questions, and because he genuinely wanted to know how his old friend and comrade was holding up, he asked, “What’s the news from Downton?”

His lordship sighed. “Not good, I’m afraid. It appears that Matthew and young William—you knew that William had gone to war with Matthew?” At Bates’s nod, he continued, “Well, they’ve gone missing.”

“Oh, no.” Bates hated to think of Mr. Matthew and William, both fine young men, suffering any of the fates hinted at by that dreaded word.

“I hate the word ‘missing’. It seems to leave so little room for optimism. I tell myself it’s too early to despair … but to be honest, Bates, I don’t think I can bear it.” Emotion was building in his lordship’s voice and face. They had both seen in their war what happened to men who went missing. Bates felt the quickening of concern in himself, and couldn’t help seeing some of the images that must haunt Lord Grantham’s imagination, as well. “Losing Patrick was bad enough, but now, the thought of Matthew gone … and the future once again destroyed …” He paused, and Bates wished there was something he could say, or do, to be of comfort. “More than that, I loved him like a son.” They both heard the “d”, acknowledging what that meant, what it said about his lordship’s state of mind, and Lord Grantham sat up straighter, new strength in his voice as he continued. “No, I love him. Let’s stay in the present tense, while we still can.”

Bates sat silent, thinking it better than offering empty platitudes that would help neither of them.

“So. Will you come back with me, and help me through the veil of shadow?”

Put like that, how could he do otherwise? How could he fail this old friend in a time of need? “It’s not what I expected, my lord, but … I will. If you want me to.”

Lord Grantham nodded. “I misjudged you, Bates. And I abused you when we parted. I should have had more faith. I’m sorry.”

“God knows, you’ve shown more faith in me than I had any right to.”

“Can we leave it at that, then, let bygones be bygones?”

“I hope so, my lord. I truly do. It makes me happier than I can say, going back to Downton.”

Lord Grantham smiled. “It makes me happier than I can say having you come back. I’ve missed you, Bates. There’s no one else I can talk to who understands so well … about the war, and my fears for those young men. It will be a relief to be able to share those fears without worrying that I am overburdening the ladies.”

Bates imagined that the ladies could handle it—Anna was as strong as anyone he’d ever met, as was Mrs. Hughes, and he suspected the same could be said of Lady Mary and Lady Edith, not to mention the Dowager Countess. But he understood the deeper friendship his lordship was alluding to, and shared it. “I will be glad to be of help.”


	88. Driving

_March 1918_

Bates left his lordship sitting over a glass of cider in the bar to seek out Acheson and thank him for taking him in and providing him work. In his typical cheery way, Acheson lamented Bates’s leaving and wished him well back at Downton with his lassie. Bates was sorry to leave the man; his interlude at the Red Lion had been enjoyable, and had offered some peace and quiet as he worked toward his future.

But returning to Downton had Bates’s heart singing. He had missed Lord Grantham more than he could have admitted to himself; not only did he feel a tremendous amount of gratitude toward his lordship for all he had done, but he also liked him personally and enjoyed spending time in his company, the “great divide” notwithstanding. He hurried to pack, although he couldn’t help musing over the irony that he was practically humming in joy over going home to a place that wasn’t considered by most people to be his home at all. A servant’s life was a funny thing.

Lord Grantham stood up as he entered the bar with his bag, a smile across his face. “I am so glad to be bringing you back. You’ll provide a much-needed sense of normalcy to the place.”

“Oh, yes, the convalescent soldiers. How do you all manage?”

“You’ll see, soon enough. I won’t pretend I enjoy it; still, it’s a sight more comfortable than going to war.”

Bates felt his mouth quirk up at the corner. “What isn’t, my lord?”

They shared a chuckle, but with no mirth. Both of them knew it was the truth; they also knew that given the choice, they would rather be back in battle, standing up for their country like men, rather than letting other, younger men fight their battles for them.

“Shall we? It’s rather late already, I’m afraid.”

“After you, my lord.”

Bates was greeted outside the inn by the only person he knew with a more highly developed sense of the irony of servitude than his own, Tom Branson. The chauffeur’s face lit when he saw Bates approach, valise in hand. He helped his lordship in first, as was only natural, then, in a rare act of deference, opened the door for Bates in the front. “I hoped his lordship would find a way to talk you back.”

“He’s very persuasive.”

“Anna will be glad,” Tom said, settling into the seat next to Bates and giving him a sideways glance. “She was a mighty unhappy girl for a long while.”

“I know it. If I could have prevented that—“ Emotion threatened to overwhelm him and Bates let it go at that before he embarrassed himself.

“She doesn’t seem to hold it against you, so I won’t, either.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

Tom grinned, his gloved hands firm on the wheel as he navigated the little town.

“You do that quite well,” Bates observed.

“It’s an important skill. Getting more so all the time. Lady Edith has picked it up handily.”

Bates wanted to ask if Lady Sybil had taken any driving lessons, but felt it wasn’t his place to bring up that particular name with the chauffeur. “Rather puts you out of work, if they all learn to drive, doesn’t it?”

Tom laughed easily. “Not at all. They may want to drive, but not one of them wants to fix the machine when it breaks down. And it’s far more convenient to keep someone like me around than have to take your car to a garage and wait your turn every time it breaks.”

“I see your point.” To Bates, watching the darkened countryside go by in the limited circle of the headlights, driving, especially in the dark, seemed incomprehensible. How did he know a rabbit wasn’t going to jump out in front of the wheels at any moment? He said as much to Tom, who shrugged.

“They do, sometimes. Too bad, really, but can’t be prevented all the time. The trick is to keep on the road.”

“It sounds simple enough.”

“You’d be surprised.”

They lapsed into silence. Bates was thinking about Anna, waiting for him up ahead, and about Vera, looming outside the circle of light ready to cause trouble. From Tom’s troubled expression, he imagined the chauffeur was thinking about Lady Sybil—a doomed romance if there ever was one, Bates thought, not that he was one to talk. And Lord Grantham, behind them? What was he thinking about in the darkness? Once upon a time, Bates imagined he would have known what troubles came to his lordship’s mind in the deep of the night, but no longer. That would have to be worked on—it was clear that Lord Grantham was in need of someone who knew what was troubling him. Bates was glad he could be that person again, and grateful for the second—third, fourth?—chance.


	89. The Gossip of Your Return

_March 1918_

She’d been nowhere near the door when the bell rang; she had a hundred things to do just now. But none of them mattered. Trying to pretend she wasn’t, Anna hurried toward the back door as fast as her legs could carry her. She knew his lordship was back—she prayed with every step that he hadn’t returned alone. As she neared, she heard Mrs. Hughes.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes. Welcome home!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes.”

Her heart nearly burst with happiness, fluttering inside her at the sound of his voice.

And then she was standing there, and he was there, back where he belonged, with her. Anna had seen him only last week … but this was all different. He was home.  
He turned to look at her.

“Thought it was you,” Anna said breathlessly, trying not to look as though her heart might have broken if it hadn’t been.

Mr. Bates smiled, in that secret private way. “Hello.”

Anna couldn’t help seeing Mrs. Hughes’ fond smile at the two of them. She knew the housekeeper had misgivings about their relationship, but at heart she wanted only their happiness, and Anna loved her for it. Right now, she might even have loved Thomas, had he been standing there in the hall. It was really a bit like having had too much to drink, a feeling she’d experienced only once or twice, but better.

“Come away in, and give some substance to the gossip of your return,” Mrs. Hughes said. The humour in her voice said what they were all thinking—that none of them could wait to see Thomas and Miss O’Brien’s faces when they saw him, back in his old place, with all the honour due him as his lordship’s valet, as his lordship’s friend, in truth.

They went past Anna, and she knew she’d have to return to her work, hurrying all the faster for this little interlude, but she couldn’t help herself; she had to touch him, just to be sure he was real. Her hand stole out, stroking his arm and squeezing the elbow briefly. He glanced back, his eyes filled with promises of later.

Her duties called her, but she couldn’t resist just another few moments. She followed Mr. Bates and Mrs. Hughes down the hall.


	90. Lord Grantham's Valet

_March 1918_

Several of the servants were gathered in the servants’ hall when they came into it. Mr. Carson was there, as well, passing through on his way. Bates paused, cold fingers gripping his heart again, wondering if this man he so respected would greet him with friendship or if his hasty and shameful departure had cost him Mr. Carson’s good will. Would he feel this way every time he saw someone here for the first time, afraid that each new person would remind him of the humiliating ignominy he had left in?

To his relief, Mr. Carson smiled broadly and came toward him with his hand out to be shaken. Unusual, that, and Bates took it for the high compliment that it was. “Mr. Bates! I am glad to see you. Welcome back to Downton.”

“Thank you, Mr. Carson. I’m happy to be—here.” He stumbled over the last word, having wanted to say ‘home’, but he wasn’t sure he deserved to use that word. Not quite yet. Still, that was what it was, especially with Anna there just behind him, her eyes bright as stars.

“You look well. I hope your leg isn’t bothering you?”

“No, no,” Bates hastened to assure him. “I feel perfectly fit.” There would be no more fuss about his ability to carry out his duties, not with Lord Grantham bringing him back personally, but he also wanted to make it clear that he had no intention of being a burden.

“Good.” Carson sighed. “You’ll find things a bit different from when you left, Mr. Bates.”

“Downton at war,” he said softly.

“Precisely. There’s some extra help in the kitchen, all very nice people, and the nurses, of course. But they live down at the hospital.”

“Except for Lady Sybil,” Anna added. Bates wasn’t sure if Anna’s smile was for him or for her pride in Lady Sybil’s nursing work. The youngest of the Crawley girls was following her heart, and Anna championed anyone who did that.

A rustle in the doorway preceded one person Bates wasn’t afraid to face. “Nurse Crawley, please,” Thomas snapped at Anna. He was the same Thomas, just a bit more rumpled in his army uniform. He walked around Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes silently, and Bates decided the opening salvo would be his, then.

“So,” he began. “We’ve both returned, you and I. Couple of bad pennies.”

O’Brien’s face didn’t change as Thomas took the spot next to her, and Bates wondered what she was thinking. Always a deep one, Miss O’Brien was.

Thomas smirked. “I haven’t.”

“Thomas means he’s not here as a servant,” O’Brien spoke up.

Bates wondered what the value was to her in standing up for Thomas. Shot through the hand in the trenches? It sounded a coward’s way out, as far as Bates was concerned. Typical Thomas. And then to worm his way back into Downton, where he’d sworn he would never be again—was he afraid to strike out on his own and try something new, somewhere new? It was a way of looking at the situation Bates had never explored before, and he suddenly saw Thomas as a young man who didn’t know who he was or what he wanted. He felt a stab of pity.

O’Brien was still speaking, firmly and sharply. “He manages the house. He’s a sergeant now.”

Thomas sank into a chair; incredibly rude, since everyone else was standing. It was a not-so-subtle dig at Mr. Carson. “I take orders from Major Clarkson; he runs this place. On behalf of the Army Medical Corps.”

“Yet another reason to pray for peace,” Bates said. Some things would never change. Despite his pity, he would not back down and let Thomas think he could walk all over people.

Mrs. Hughes smothered a smile, and Bates could practically feel Anna’s triumphant inner “so there” next to him.

There was one more member of the staff he wanted to greet especially, and he turned to little Daisy, standing there quiet and meek. “I heard about William from his lordship,” he said. Daisy blinked and avoided his gaze, poor girl, so he turned to the others, adding, “And Captain Crawley.”

“I’m sure they’re all right,” Anna said staunchly. He loved that about her, the way she always managed to cling to hope. She appeared to be the only one, or so he gathered from the uncomfortable silence in the room following her statement.

From down the hall a door slammed, making them all jump, and there were the scuff of shoes on the floor. Mr. Molesley appeared, breathing hard. “I’m sorry I’m late. Has the dressing gong rung yet?”

Mrs. Hughes smiled, but she ducked her head, not meeting Molesley’s eyes. “You’re not late, Mr. Molesley, but …”

Mr. Carson took up where she wasn’t sure how to finish. “Mr. Bates is back,” he said, gesturing in Bates’s direction, “and you’ve reminded me; I’d better ring it now.”

Poor Molesley. He met Bates’s eyes, looking stricken. “Are you staying? For good?”

Bates had never considered himself as a bad man, necessarily, but some trick of fate had landed him directly in Molesley’s path, as his old friend’s nemesis. If he could have done something about it without costing himself everything he held dear, he would have. As it was, though, he couldn’t regret the way things had worked out, and surely Molesley would find some other way to land on his feet. “I’d need a crystal ball to answer that,” he said lightly, hoping to ease the tension a bit, “but I’ll stay here for now. Have you been standing in for me?” It was a message as much for Thomas as for Molesley—the job of Lord Grantham’s valet was Bates’s, and no man could take it from him.

“Well, I was going to, starting tonight, yes.” Molesley looked lost, glancing around the room as if he didn’t recognize it. Poor man, this blow had flummoxed him. Still, better tonight than later, once he’d gotten a taste of the job.

“Then you’ll be relieved to see me,” Bates said courteously, wanting to offer his old friend back his dignity.

After another blank look, Molesley rallied in the way he had. “Oh, tremendously,” he said. You had to admire a man who could look defeat in the face with such aplomb and pretend he was prevailing.

Bates noticed something in his friend’s hand. “What’s that?”

Molesley lifted it, a piece of horn and steel. “It’s a new kind of shoe horn. I bought it for his lordship.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Molesley, thank you.” Bates reached for the contraption, studying it curiously. The dressing gong rang, everyone getting into motion.

Thomas put his cup down sharply in his saucer. “Daisy, fetch me some more tea.”

“Thomas, I’ve got dinner to—“

“Hot, this time,” he said with insolent deliberateness. “And it’s Sergeant Barrow to you.”

Even Miss O’Brien winced at that one, and Mrs. Hughes’ outrage was plain on her face. None of them spoke to the great lump at the table, though, turning to be about their own work, and Bates followed them slowly, a bit disturbed by his first taste of Downton at war.

O’Brien caught him in the doorway. “Watch yourself, Mr. Bates. Thomas is in charge now, and it won’t do to get on the wrong side of him.”

Bates glanced back at Thomas, then down at O’Brien. “Is there a right side?”

Only later, when he was making his way to his lordship’s room, did he look down at Molesley’s shoe horn and consider everything that it represented. Perhaps he could convince Lord Grantham to pay for it. At the very least, he would have to let his lordship know that the contraption had been Molesley’s idea. It was the least he could do.


	91. You're Stuck with Me Now

_March 1918_

As soon as they both had a spare moment, by mutual accord, Anna and Bates hurried outside. He reached for her at once, but Anna ducked his arms. “What’s going on? I have to know. You were so adamant that you couldn’t come back because if Vera knew you were here—“

His face tightened. “Do you wish I hadn’t come?”

“No, of course not. I want you here, with me, and always have. I just don’t understand what’s changed.”

“His lordship asked me, as a favour. I couldn’t turn that down,” he said. “I think it’ll be all right, though. I’ve written to Vera, spelling out the case and how she cannot win it, then I have told her I will be generous if she will cooperate.”

Anna thought of the superior, smirking woman she had met before. That woman hadn’t looked like “cooperate” was in her vocabulary. “But you’re ready to give her everything? Because I am.” Her voice trembled with the force of her emotion. This had all gone on so long—it had to end soon. It had to.

“Whatever it takes,” Mr. Bates agreed. “I want a clean break and not an open wound. If we can just be patient a little while longer …”

She nodded, unable to trust her voice, unsure how many more of his “little while longer”s she could manage. Now when he reached for her, one big hand closing on her shoulder to draw her against him, she let him, needing the warmth of his body to reassure her and give her strength. She pressed her hands against his broad chest, tucking her head against it.

“We shouldn’t be outside. It’s cold.” Mr. Bates’s hands moved across her back, comforting her, and Anna didn’t feel the cold. Not any longer. After so many months of the chill coming from inside her, from the lonely empty place where he had been, she felt the inner fire coming back, the determination she knew herself to possess.

“I’ll be patient,” Anna said. “I can bear anything.” But she had to let him know that she couldn’t have this nightmare again. She pushed back just enough to look him in the eye, to convince him of how much she meant it. “Except for you to go away again.”

“No, that’s done.” He shook his head, his hands caressing her elbows. Gazing into her eyes, he added, “You’re stuck with me now. For good and proper.”

She smiled. “Promise.” It wasn’t a request.

With an answering smile, he murmured huskily, “Sealed with a kiss.” Anna’s eyes closed as his lips met hers, softly, tentatively, for a moment, then more firmly as she gasped in pleasure, opening her mouth for him. His tongue found hers and her knees went weak beneath her. She wound her arms around his body, pulling herself more firmly against him, and gloried in the quiet moan he gave in response to the movement. He was holding her now, his hand at the back of her neck keeping her head still as he kissed her, claiming her mouth surely and certainly.

Anna couldn’t stop her hands from moving, stroking his back and kneading the fabric of his coat. She wished desperately that they weren’t wearing so many layers—the idea of touching his bare skin made her dizzy.

The door opened abruptly, and they jumped apart, turning away from the door as they resettled mussed clothing and tried to compose themselves.

“I thought I’d find the two of you out here,” Mrs. Hughes said in exasperated amusement. Or amused exasperation. Anna couldn’t quite tell which emotion was stronger. “Do we have to have a talk?”

“No, Mrs. Hughes,” Anna muttered. Deciding that her dress was as smooth and her face as calm as she was going to manage, she hurried inside, ducking the housekeeper’s gaze. A warm glow remained inside her, and she found herself humming as she hurried back to her work. He was home.


	92. As Much Emotion

_March 1918_

Anna’s happy mood was lost when she came down the hallway and saw Lady Mary there, supporting herself with one hand on the wall while she tried to get control of herself. Only one piece of news could have so broken her ladyship’s self-control, and while Anna wasn’t glad of it, she thought it was high time that Lady Mary knew about Mr. Matthew.

Her ladyship turned to Anna, her face as white as paper.

She reached for Lady Mary’s arm, offering her support. “They’ve told you, then.”

“Do they all know downstairs?”

Anna gave a small nod. “William’s missing, too.”

Lady Mary closed her eyes at the fresh blow.

“I think everyone knows except her ladyship,” Anna continued.

“I wish Edith had left it to the morning,” Lady Mary said. “I could have faced it all with one more night of sleep.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. This was news that Lady Mary could never have faced with equanimity. Anna wished she had been the one to break the news, or his lordship—anyone but Lady Edith. Then again, she considered, in front of Lady Edith Lady Mary would have been able to retain her composure, which she could not have managed for Anna or her father … and composure was all she had right now.

Anna took her ladyship’s hand and hurried her into her bedroom, sensing a crack in that composure coming on. Inside her ladyship’s bedroom she hurried through the process of undressing and redressing and readying her ladyship for bed, not liking Lady Mary’s pallor or her staring, burning eyes.

“It’s all right to cry,” she said softly.

“I wish I could. There’s a lump lodged in my throat and it hurts to swallow—it hurts to breathe—but …” Lady Mary shook her head. “There are no tears.”

Anna felt like crying herself. It was as much emotion as her ladyship ever admitted to. If only Captain Crawley knew how much she loved him … She thought of Mr. Bates downstairs, and where they would have been if she had held her emotions in and hidden them from him. He’d be long gone by now, driven away by one scheme or another, and not brought back here where he belonged. Such a waste of love, not to speak of it, she thought.

“Will you be able to sleep, or shall I bring you some warm milk from the kitchens?”

“No, no milk. Could I drink it, knowing that he might be in some prison camp, or … or worse? I don’t know if I can even climb in that bed.”

“Going without sleep and making yourself miserable won’t help anyone, least of all Mr. Matthew,” Anna said firmly.

“I don’t imagine it will. I hate feeling so helpless, so far away and … feminine. I wish I could go to war.”

“Do you, my lady?” Anna considered her ladyship thoughtfully. “I think you might be quite good at it.”

“I can see Papa’s face now. First Sybil becomes a nurse and then I decide to go for a soldier.” She gave a small, humourless laugh. “If only I could, at least to feel that I was doing something.”

“For now, the best thing you can do is get some rest.”

“Yes, I know.” But they both knew she wouldn’t rest. She would lie in bed staring into the dark and imagining all sorts of horrible things. “I wish—I wish I was as strong as you, Anna. You endured so patiently while Bates was gone. But I—“

“That was quite different. And in the privacy of my thoughts, I wasn’t patient at all.”

“But that’s all done now. Is he glad to be back?”

“Very.” She tucked her ladyship into bed. “My suffering wasn’t forever, my lady, and yours may not be, either. Missing isn’t the same as … lost for good. Don’t lose hope.”

Lady Mary reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. “Don’t let me, Anna.”

“I won’t. I promise. William and Captain Crawley are out there somewhere, safe and sound—you’ll see.” Anna squeezed the thin, cold hand in hers, then let go and folded the covers carefully up under her ladyship’s chin. “Think about when they come home, instead.”

“When he comes home to another woman,” Lady Mary whispered, and Anna winced as she tiptoed from the room, wishing she could fix both her ladyship’s problems at once. Stupid men and their ridiculous wars.


	93. Companionable

_March 1918_

Lord Grantham closed the door behind him, smiling when he saw Bates waiting for him. “Such a relief to have you here. How was your first night back?”

“About as I would have expected, my lord.”

“Thomas made remarks, I take it?”

“He wouldn’t be Thomas if he hadn’t.”

“Yes. Unfortunate that we’re saddled with the fellow again, but there you have it.”

O’Brien having Lady Grantham’s ear had a great deal to do with that; both men knew it, but neither felt any need to comment on it.

His lordship looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. “Another night, helpless to do anything. You would think with all these convalescent soldiers in the house I would remember how horrible it all was, but all I can think is how shameful it is that I sit here, hale and hearty, while they’ve been out sacrificing their youth and their health on my behalf.”

“You’d have gone if you could.”

“Might haves, and could haves, aren’t as helpful as they seem.”

“No.” Bates took his lordship’s coat, brushing it off before he returned it to its hanger, then returned for the cufflinks.

“Let’s cheer things up, then, Bates. How did Anna react to your return? Was she pleased to see you?”

Bates fought against his completely unservant-like smile. “Yes, my lord.”

“Glad to hear it. I take it plans between you remain the same?”

“Yes. As soon as I can obtain my divorce, we intend to be married.”

“You’ll let me know if there’s any way I can assist in that endeavour, I hope?”

“Of course, my lord.” He wouldn’t—it was humiliating enough that every member of the staff and family knew what a mess he’d made of his personal life, without being reduced to begging over it—but it was kind of his lordship to offer. “Thank you.”

Lord Grantham gave him a smile that said he knew exactly what Bates was thinking and wasn’t going to push the issue, and the rest of the evening’s chores passed in comfortable, companionable silence.


	94. Lady Mary's Song

_March 1918_

Anna watched Lady Mary with admiration—she’d always known her ladyship had strength and courage, but this was more than she would have imagined, to sing such a spirited song in front of so many people, with no indication that she was sick at heart over Mr. Matthew. Anna had tried hard to keep her longing for Mr. Bates hidden while he was gone, but she knew she’d slipped more than once and let it break through … and he hadn’t even been in danger, just lost to her. Mr. Matthew could be—no, she wouldn’t think that way. Not when William was with him, because that would mean they both were, and that couldn’t be borne.

At least now Mr. Bates was back. She didn’t look at him, standing by her side just as he used to, just where he belonged, but his presence gave her strength and courage. It was nourishment to the soul, just as her dinner was nourishment to the body, and filled her with just as much warmth and comfort. She wondered what he was thinking as he listened to Lady Mary’s song. Did he hear the faint strain in her voice, marvel at her endurance the way Anna did? Probably not—he didn’t know her ladyship nearly as well—but he knew how deeply the Crawley family as a whole felt about Mr. Matthew, and knew much more about how Lord Grantham, far up at the front of the room must be feeling. For that matter, Mr. Bates knew what war was. Unlike Lady Mary, Anna had no desire to go to war; she certainly had never wished to be a man. And she was glad not to have images in her mind of what William and Mr. Matthew must be going through. But Mr. Bates must see those images, and have his own memories of war-time stirred up by the thought of the two missing young men. Anna would have to ask him about that later. No, she wouldn’t, she decided after a moment. If Mr. Bates wished to talk about those memories, he would, but she had no business stirring them up herself. Maybe someday down the road, when they were truly man and wife, and this horrid war was long over.

She let her mind drift to thoughts of what it would be like to be Mrs. Bates, but that brought her dangerously close to thoughts of Vera, and she pulled her attention resolutely back to Lady Mary’s song.

Her ladyship was in the chorus now, the entire room joining in, and Anna looked around her at all of them, smiling at how lovely they sounded. The smile faltered and fell away and she bit her lip as she caught sight of Tom. He appeared to be the only person in the room not singing; his eyes were fixed on Lady Sybil, who stood next to him, and the whole of his open heart lay bare in them, for anyone to see. Anna couldn’t help the pang she felt at the sight of his naked love and longing, and she looked hastily away from him, feeling that she had intruded on a very intimate moment. There seemed so little likelihood of a happy ending for Tom; even Lady Sybil, brave and audacious as she was, would have a hard time overcoming the attitudes that had been bred in her since birth. But Tom was a romantic, a dreamer, and even if Anna could have sat him down and explained his dream away, she hadn’t the heart to try.

And then Lady Mary stopped singing, her eyes widening and her face paling in a way that would only have been noticeable to someone who knew her very well. Anna turned her head, following her ladyship’s gaze, and saw William and Mr. Matthew, standing there whole and hearty as if they’d just been out for a walk.

She saw William glance at Daisy, his whole face alight with pleasure at being near her, and saw Daisy try to summon a smile. Poor thing. Poor things, Anna amended in her thoughts. She would have had neither the timidity to be forced into Daisy’s position nor the courage to carry it off once put there, and she still wasn’t sure whether she thought the pretense was right … but Daisy had been genuinely worried for William, as they all had.

Mr. Matthew broke the silence in the room by resuming the song himself, walking forward to stand with Lady Mary, who gamely took up the song again along with him. And if she looked at him just a bit too long, her face alight as William’s had been, her heart in her eyes as openly as Tom’s had been a moment ago, Anna suspected she might be the only one who saw. Her heart hurt for all of them.


	95. Trust It

_March 1918_

Bates stood watching as Anna came toward him. She was so beautiful—it was as though he was seeing her clearly for the first time in a long while: her eyes brighter, her hair shinier, her trim figure in the crisp starched uniform more shapely than they had ever seemed before. He opened the door for her as she approached, but blocked it partially with his body so she would have to pause, so he could look at her for just a moment longer.

“Who would have thought an amateur concert could be the summit of all joy?” he whispered hoarsely, basking in her answering smile. “I’ve lived in such a fog of misery since I left you. I think I’d forgotten what happiness is.”

“Me, too.” Plain, simple words to encompass the depths of despair he had sent her to. Her generosity of spirit was one of the things he so treasured in her. “But now we must get used to feeling happy. And trust it,” she said firmly.

“God, I want to.” He stepped back and let her move through the door … but some part of him, even in the flush of his joy, felt chilled. Happiness worried him—he had never had it long enough to trust it to remain, and so many obstacles still lay in the path yet. For Anna, he would try to be positive, to trust that nothing could hold them back for long, he told himself, as firmly as she had.

Still … in the dark nights lying alone in his room, he knew he would taste fear, and despair, and the certainty of trouble to come. It had never failed to do so yet—why should it now?


	96. Flood of Emotion

_June 1918_

The days fell back into their routine—after a few, it was hard to remember Mr. Bates had ever been gone. Anna went about her work joyously, knowing that every time she had a break, he would be there to sit next to, to talk to, to exchange looks that spoke a thousand words with … occasionally to touch and, even more rarely, to kiss.

One day, while snatching a spare moment to tidy up her own room, a task that went shockingly neglected these days, Anna found a torn sheet of paper on which she had begun to write a letter to Mr. Bates during his absence. Reading her own words, even hastily scrawled and unfinished as the letter was, brought her inescapably back to the sorrow and despair she had felt, and the hard work it had taken to hide those raw emotions from the rest of the staff. Crumpling the paper up, she thrust it into her apron pocket, intending to throw it in the fire later.

Having it there, resting in the bottom of her pocket, crackling ever so slightly as she walked, kept the memories fresh in her mind, and she found herself irritated at everyone she came across. Including Mr. Bates, who received a short, sharp remark in response to an inquiry about her well-being that had him staring after her like a wounded pup as she marched briskly away from him. He avoided her until after dinner, when he appeared at her elbow just as she was considering whether tea or bed would better soothe her mood right at the moment.

“Anna, can you come outside with me?”

Oh, she wanted to. On a warm evening like this with the night air stirring her blood, the possibility of kisses … Her heart pounded at the thought. But she clutched the memory of her hurt to her. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“Please. Clearly I’ve done something, and I don’t know what it is. I can’t bear it, Anna.”

“You don’t know?” she asked in a furious whisper, unable to hold back the flood of emotion any further. “You don’t know what you did? You left me, remember that? Walked out of here with your wife and left me crying in the courtyard.” She bit her lip to avoid tears.

Pain was etched into every line of his face. “I know. We can’t talk about this here. Please—come outside.”

“Very well.” Anna wasn’t really sure what had gotten into her. This temper wasn’t like her at all … but part of her felt good letting out all the anger she had bottled up for so long. She followed him outside, reaching into her pocket to squeeze the letter.

“I’m sorry about that, you know I am,” he said as soon as he was sure they were alone. “I never meant to hurt you, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t let her hurt the people I cared about.”

“What do you think you did? Do you really think that I, or Lord Grantham, for that matter, were happier knowing you had left us without trusting us enough to tell us why than we would have been if you had stayed and at least tried to let us help you? You’re not alone anymore!”

He shook his head slowly. “I am not used to that. I have been alone for … a long time, and I am used to making my own decisions.”

“And everyone else’s,” Anna snapped. “But I can’t live that way, with you hiding things from me for my own good. I have to know. Do you have any idea what it was like here without you, thinking I would never see you again? You said you wanted me to find someone else, but I never can. Never, never. I know you won’t believe that. You think I’m young, but I know my own mind, and my heart. I always have. There’s no one—nothing—for me without you. I felt—“ She gasped against the pressure constricting her throat and her chest, trying not to cry. “Adrift, alone on an endless ocean, with no land in sight, clutching my memories to me because they were all that I had.”

“Anna …” He reached for her, taking her hand.

The feel of her small hand lost in his big one anchored her, bringing her back to the present, cooling her anger and soothing her spirit. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at her feet. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just—today, I was reminded of how that felt, and I—“

“No. I’m glad you did. I don’t ever want to forget what I put you through. I love you, and I hate that I caused you such pain. I promise, never again.”

Anna threw her arms around his waist, burying her face in his waistcoat, holding on to the warm, solid reality of him there with her.

“Are we all right?” Mr. Bates whispered into her hair.

She nodded against him. His arms came around her, making her feel so safe and loved. Anna wished they could stand just this way forever.


	97. Hands

_July 1918_

While Anna loved having Mr. Bates back with her at Downton, she had to admit that occasionally she missed the privacy of being able to meet him at the Red Lion—surrounded by strangers who didn’t care who they were or what their story was, they had been able to relax and enjoy each other’s company. At Downton, although she saw him all the time, each moment away from the sneers of Thomas and Miss O’Brien and the concerned looks of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes was so rare they felt a pressure to make it special; but it was difficult to let go of their daily affairs and simply be together. Not to mention that those moments were few and far between. Privacy was a little-known part of a servant’s life; of course, given the presence of soldiers everywhere in the house, privacy was a dear commodity for everyone all the way up to Lord Grantham these days.

Thus it was that when Anna and Mr. Bates found themselves in the middle of the afternoon with a few moments alone in the servants’ hall, every second that ticked by on the clock was as precious as gold.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured quietly, leaning toward her with that dark, intense look in his eyes that never failed to affect her.

Anna could feel those words, and that look, all the way down to the pit of her stomach. It had been days since they had been able to be alone, and while their kisses tended to be brief in order to avoid kindling their passions beyond what was bearable, she depended on those moments to carry her through this never-ending “little while” of waiting for his freedom. She flushed now, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. “We can’t. Someone could walk in at any moment.”

“Yes.” While there was no doubt she was right, Mr. Bates didn’t seem convinced. His hand tapped restlessly on the table, making his frustration clear.

She would have suggested the courtyard, but there would be people bustling about out there at this time of the day. Anna reached out, covering his hand with hers. The touch of each other’s hand was the only way they had of expressing their feelings most of the time, and she always found it so reassuring. She meant nothing more by it this time.

But at the light touch of her fingers on the back of his, Mr. Bates turned his hand over, gripping hers with an urgency that made Anna entirely aware of the fact that his bare skin was touching hers. The heat that suddenly rose in her had nothing to do with the balmy summer weather. She stifled a gasp, shifting in her seat, but not removing her hand from Mr. Bates’s grasp.

His touch eased, his thumb stroking lightly along the middle of her palm. Anna shivered at the sensation, her fingers trembling. His thumb continued its slow, steady movements, tracing each one of her fingers up and down, whispering across the back of her hand and then pressing and massaging the ball of her thumb.

She could barely repress a moan, licking her lips to moisten them. His breath seemed to be coming as fast as hers. Anna wanted him to stop, the feelings his touch was awakening almost too much; but they were delicious, too, and she wanted more. He used all his fingers now, running them along hers, sliding them in between hers so that their fingers were laced together. He tightened his grip, like an embrace, and then relaxed again, letting his fingers glide away slowly before his thumb began to stroke her palm again.

Anna was gripping her chair tightly with her other hand to keep herself upright. She could never have imagined that just the touch of his hand could make her feel quite this way, and dizzily she imagined that warm thumb and those surprisingly dexterous big fingers touching her elsewhere. A small sound, like that of a hungry kitten, broke the hush that had settled over the servants’ hall, and her eyes flew open when she realized she had made it. She pulled her hand away, worried lest someone might have heard her and misconstrued what they were doing. (Or would it have been a misconstrual? Simply holding hands had felt more intimate than anything they had yet done together.)

“I should go,” she said.

“Probably.” His voice was hoarse, his face flushed. Clearly he had been as affected as she, and for a moment Anna was tempted to stay and explore his hand as thoroughly, as sensually, as he had hers. But she could hear someone’s feet in the hall; it simply wasn’t the time.

She settled instead for a light touch on his shoulder as she went past, leaving him to shift his chair a bit closer to the table and apply himself to his now thoroughly cooled cup of tea. Anna hoped her own flushed cheeks and the breathing she still hadn’t gotten under control wouldn’t be noticed by anyone she might pass as she hurried up the stairs searching for a physically difficult task to work out her frustrations on. If this “little while” lasted much longer, she might just go out of her head.


	98. Meddling in Your Affairs

_July 1918_

Bates was just returning to the servants’ hall for a quick cup of tea after seeing that his lordship’s evening wear was set out when Mrs. Hughes stepped out of her room in front of him and beckoned him inside.

“Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Hughes?”

“Yes. Please, sit down.” She stood before him, her hands clasped. “I wanted to have a quick chat with you regarding Anna.”

“Anna?” That, he hadn’t expected, although he should have. He’d been back at Downton for several months now, and he knew the housekeeper must have questions. Taking the seat Mrs. Hughes gestured him to, he asked, “What would you like to know?”

“First, I think … I think I have to confess something. You see—I knew why you left.”

“You did?”

“I … listened in on your conversation with Mrs. Bates.” Mrs. Hughes turned red, staring at her interlaced fingers. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

Startled by the admission, Bates had to take a moment to collect himself. “Your instincts were right,” he said at last. “As you know from what you heard.” It was his turn to blush at the memory of that interview, in which Vera had triumphed over him with such ease, and sent him back into the dark places inside himself that he never wanted to visit again.

“I wish you had stopped to talk to us, Mr. Bates,” Mrs. Hughes said. “We would have helped you, instead of … putting us all through that. It nearly broke my heart to see Anna putting on such a brave face when we all could see how much she was suffering. She didn’t deserve that. We didn’t, not after we stood by you. Lord Grantham didn’t, either, even if you thought you were doing right by him.”

“Does he—know?” Surely he couldn’t know what Vera had threatened; it would have come up.

“Not the details, no, but Mr. Carson and I thought it best that he know at least what measures were used to draw you away.”

“Mr. Carson?” Of course. Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t have made any decisions without Mr. Carson’s input. “Yes, naturally,” he said. “Thank you for looking out for my best interests while I was … wandering in the dark.”

“I’ve told you before, you’re highly valued here. By all of us. I don’t want you to forget it again.” There was affection in her look, and friendship, and Bates kicked himself all over again for having walked out on these people who had taken him in so generously. “But now you’re back.”

He nodded, waiting.

“And Anna is glowing from the inside out. But … I need to know that you aren’t just telling her what you want to tell her. I heard your wife,” Mrs. Hughes said softly, clearly trying not to be offensive, “and she did not sound to me like a woman who would grant you a divorce in favour of another woman if she could possibly help it. I don’t want to see Anna hurt again if this drags on forever and a day.”

It was a fair point, and she had a right to ask. Bates took a deep breath, thinking of how to answer. “I … have certain proofs that will allow me to legally divorce Vera without her consent, but as you imagine, she is still capable of causing trouble even given that fact. It is my hope that I can convince her to accept the divorce by offering her what I can, and that is what I am waiting for. Rest assured, if I cannot get her to accept it, I will still see to it that the divorce goes through—but it will be easier and more pleasant this way.”

“And in the meantime, there’s Anna waiting and waiting.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he said, trying, and failing, to keep his own frustration with that very situation from bubbling up and venting itself on this good woman before him. “I’ve told her time and again not to waste herself on me; I’ve done everything I could to convince her I wasn’t worth her youth and her generous heart. But you know Anna as well as I do—once she makes up her mind, there’s no changing her. I tried to … keep myself from returning her feelings, but how would that have been possible? A woman like Anna … a man’s lucky to find such a woman in his lifetime, much less to be loved by one.” He stood, ignoring the pain in his leg, drawing himself up with as much dignity as he could muster. “I love her, Mrs. Hughes. I would never let her be less than she is; would never compromise or shame her.”

The housekeeper studied him, her face unreadable. “I know your intentions are honourable, and I know your actions have been as well.” She smiled. “A housekeeper can tell these things. But false hope is as bad as … anything else. I would not want to see Anna fall victim to it.”

“Nor I.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“Very well. And thank you,” he said, feeling great affection for this small woman with the big heart who stood before him.

“For meddling in your affairs?” she asked dryly.

“For caring.”

“Ah.” She stepped aside, opening the door for him. “Good-night, Mr. Bates.”

“Good-night, Mrs. Hughes.”


	99. Our Young Men

_August 1918_

O’Brien, awake during the middle of the night as she sometimes was, answered the doorbell when it rang, letting Mr. Molesley in with his telegram, but not before the jangling bell woke Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore. As O’Brien went to hurry the news to Lord and Lady Grantham, Mrs. Hughes set about waking the rest of the servants, knowing that they would want to know whatever there was to be told.

The family was already clustered around Molesley, the rest of the servants gathered in the doorway, when Bates made it down the stairs.

He touched Anna lightly on the shoulder and she put her fingers over his. Bates tried to focus on the reason they had all been awakened, instead of staring at Anna’s long braid of silky golden hair and imagining it unbound, loose and glowing around her. “Do you know what is going on?” he asked her softly.

She shook her head, leaning forward to press her forehead briefly against his shoulder. As briefly, Bates put an arm around her, holding her against him for a moment, wanting to offer any comfort he could. Her slender body was tense with fear.

The family were speaking in very hushed tones, and Bates couldn’t hear what they were saying. Apparently no one else could, either, because after waiting as long as he could, Mr. Carson stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Beg pardon, my lord, but we’re all very anxious to know the news.”

“Yes, of course,” Lord Grantham said, moving toward the doorway where the servants were clustered.

Bates and Anna stepped closer to the others, watching Lord Grantham’s face anxiously.

“It appears that a few days ago, Captain Crawley was wounded. It’s serious, I’m afraid, but he’s alive and on his way home to the hospital in the village.”

“Where there’s life, there’s hope,” Mrs. Hughes said stoutly.

“What about William?” Daisy asked. “Is he all right?”

Bates was sorry for her. Whatever emotions she felt for William might well have come ‘round to the love the lad wanted so much, given time, but now with Mrs. Patmore’s well-intentioned meddling, Daisy didn’t know how to feel. She was a staunch little soul, though, and loyal, and as long as she was in this mess was making the best of it for the boy’s sake. Bates hoped William would come home and someday get the reward he deserved for his faith and his devotion.

Lord Grantham said, “I’ll find out what I can, tomorrow. I’m not sure there’s much more we can do tonight.”

“William’s father would have had a telegram, if anything had happened,” Bates pointed out.

Lady Edith looked at Daisy. “I’ll drive over in the morning,” she promised.

At least William’s father wouldn’t have to suffer alone for long, if the news was bad, Bates thought. It would be a comfort to him, if William were wounded or killed, that all the staff at Downton were with him in his fear, or his grief. Small comfort, but better than nothing. Bates wanted to believe that William was fine, but he knew the lad too well; he’d have protected Captain Crawley with his life. If Matthew Crawley was badly wounded, chances were that William was, also.

By unspoken accord, Bates and Anna stopped outside the library as everyone else began to trickle back to bed. Lord Grantham and Lady Mary remained inside. Bates knew all too well the pain and fear his old friend would be feeling, and Anna would know better than anyone how this news would affect Lady Mary. After a few moments, Lady Mary left the library, looking pale and haunted, and Anna went to her, putting an arm around her ladyship’s waist. They went upstairs together.

Bates waited, not wanting to intrude on his lordship’s private grief. Eventually his lordship came to the door, pausing when he saw Bates. “Thank you. I’ll be all right.”

“Is there anything I can get for you, anything at all?”

“No, Bates. What good would it do? I’d still be here in the lap of luxury, and he would still be out there, suffering through God knows what kind of pain. Why do we do this to ourselves, torture and kill the best and brightest of our young men? Why isn’t there a better way yet?”

“I wish I knew.”

“So do I.” Lord Grantham moved wearily up the stairs, his white-knuckled grip on the banister showing what an effort every step was. “Good-night, Bates.”

“Good-night, my lord.” Just to be safe, Bates stood watching until his old friend was safely on the landing, then turned back toward the servants’ area. There would be no more sleep for him tonight—he would spend the rest of it sitting hunched over a cup of tea, trying to forget the sound of drums and gunfire and the screams of the wounded.


	100. Caught in It

_August 1918_

It was a slow, weary day. The staff were exhausted from their midnight waking and the early morning that followed, and sick at heart with fear for William and Mr. Matthew. Once the morning’s work was done, they scattered, finding spaces to be alone and think about their soldiers—places where they wouldn’t have to see the convalescent soldiers and picture William with each of their wounds.

Lady Edith brought them the news about William. It was a relief to know, at first, and not have to worry any further … but then it wasn’t a relief. Anna searched for Mr. Bates, seeking the comfort of being at his side. She found him outside, in the sunshine, polishing a pair of shoes.

He put the shoes aside as soon as he saw her, his look a question. He hadn’t been in the servants’ hall when Lady Edith told them the news, and Anna knew he had a special place in his heart for William. She went straight to him, sitting down on the bench next to him. “Lady Edith’s back,” she said, not wanting to drag out the news. “William was caught in it. He’s gone to some hospital in Leeds.”

Mr. Bates looked away, wincing as at a physical blow, then looked back at her, grief written across his face. “I’m very sorry.”

“We might have known,” Anna said, trying to hold back the tears. “We couldn’t be the only household left untouched.” She couldn’t seem to control her breath, and her throat constricted painfully, thinking of the poor boy all alone so far from them all.

“Will he come through it?” Mr. Bates asked softly.

“Her ladyship said it sounded bad, but we don’t know more than that.” There was a silence between them. Anna felt a deep need to take her grief and her hopes for William’s recovery, and that of Mr. Matthew, and her devout wish that the dreadful war would end to someone who would listen, who might hear her prayers and do something about it. She put her hand over Mr. Bates’s. “Can you walk with me to the church this afternoon?”

“If you want me to.”

She knew he wasn’t a believer, certainly not the way she was, and she was glad that he was willing to go with her, that he sensed her need for the comfort to be found in the presence of God. “Because … I’d like to say a prayer for them. For both of them.”

Mr. Bates squeezed her hand. “I will go anywhere you need me to go.”

“Thank you.” Anna bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying. There was still work to do, and she had to hold herself together. But for just this moment, she would sit here and take in some of his strength and be glad for all the blessings of her life.


	101. To Believe

_August 1918_

The walk to the church, despite the reason behind it, had been lovely, the two of them together in the bright sunny day. Bates was so grateful to have this woman by his side, with her strong, devoted heart. Although he didn’t believe in the promises it offered, walking down the aisle of the church with her felt right—the way things ought to be. He imagined them as a normal couple, walking to church on a Sunday, perhaps with a child or two, taking their seat, listening to the sermon … But of course, he was divorced. The painful thought was like a pebble in his shoe, it couldn’t be ignored forever. The church would not approve of their marriage, and there was no question of them being a normal couple any time soon.

“You should have had a church wedding,” he said softly.

Anna laughed. “Don’t be silly.” Her smile was a ray of sunshine, but Bates was caught in the gloom.

“No, I mean it.” He could see it all so clearly. “You in a white dress, me looking like a fool.”

She smiled again at that sally, as he had meant her to, but then she sobered, speaking in her determined way. “I’d rather have the right man than the right wedding.”

Her steps echoed on the floor, and he tried, for her sake, to fight the dread that had settled on him. “Well, it won’t be long now.” He was tired enough of that same endlessly repeated promise; she must be, too, although she rarely let her impatience show.

She called him on it this time, her little face tilting up toward him. “How long?” The question was spoken softly, but it was firm, too—she needed an answer. She deserved one.

Bates was caught for a moment, trying to find his breath, his words. “Hard to say.” Oh, those were inadequate words. He followed them up hastily with more. “But don’t worry. The decree nisi means we’re safe. The decree absolute’s only a formality. I’m just sorry it cost so much.” He meant money—he’d given Vera every cent he and Anna could scrape together—but more than that, also. The time, the wear on Anna, the unpleasantness … the price of getting rid of Vera had been high.

A little smile played across Anna’s face. “She could have had my shoes, and the shirt off my back, if it would only make her go away for good.”

How had he managed to be worthy of such a woman? Nothing daunted her, nothing made her falter in her belief in him—in them. They stood together before the altar, and if he could have given her himself, everything he was or ever would be, right at that moment, he would gladly have done so.

“She’s gone now,” he promised, his voice hoarse.

Anna clasped her hands together, looking up at the cross. “I suppose I could feel guilty in my happiness, knowing the troubles we’re all facing back at home, but in another way it only makes me more grateful.” She paused, and Bates wished he could feel what she felt, that a loving God had brought them here together. For the moment, it would be enough for him that she felt it. “Let’s pray,” Anna said. “Let’s pray together.”

They mounted the steps, side by side, and knelt at the altar. Their hands reached for each other, gripping tightly, the pressure reassuring, as always. Then she let go, turning her face toward the cross, and she closed her eyes and folded her hands and began to pray. Bates envied that easy assurance that God was listening. He hoped with all his heart for William’s health, and Matthew’s, and the return of both young men safely to their loved ones … but he had seen too much to believe.


	102. Outmatched

_August 1918_

Anna was refreshed by their time in the church, feeling at peace now that she had turned her worries for William and for Mr. Matthew over to God’s hands. She was thinking of preparing Lady Mary and Lady Edith for dinner and the hurry and bustle of the service afterward as she and Mr. Bates returned to Downton. What she was not prepared for was to be met at the door by Mrs. Hughes and told that Vera was waiting for Mr. Bates in Mrs. Hughes’s parlor.

“I’m going with you,” she said, the words coming to her lips almost before she’d thought them.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, frowning.

“Good idea or ill, I am going with you.” That was the end of it. Anna would be at his side while he faced down that woman, and she might have a few things to say of her own. He was the man and this was his mess to fix, that was true enough, but he was also the one who had gotten them all into this situation, and Anna felt her support could only help at this point.

Mr. Bates looked at her as though he wanted to argue, then decided against it.

Anna hung up her coat and smoothed her hair. She would walk into that room looking her very best—and if Vera had to wait a few extra minutes in the bargain, that was all the better.

Vera didn’t bother to rise as they came in. “Jack,” she said. She didn’t acknowledge Anna, other than to rake her up and down with her eyes, sneering.

“Vera, what are you doing here?”

“I came to ask when you’ll be returning home.”

The arrogance was revolting, but Anna felt a chill at Vera’s calm exterior. Whatever was going on here, Vera was far from “gone”, as Mr. Bates had promised she was.

“This is my home, Vera,” he said wearily. “The decree nisi has gone through; the divorce is settled.”

That shook Vera, but only a bit. “Excuse me,” she said hotly. “It is not settled. It wasn’t settled by me that you’d come back here and take up with your floozy again. As far as I recall, that was never settled.”

Mr. Bates winced visibly at the vulgar word, but Anna didn’t bother. “How did you find out he was here?” she asked instead. Miss O’Brien or Thomas, she’d bet. If only she could prove it.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The two women stared at each other. There was more in the look than the surface argument—at heart, it mattered not at all how Vera knew. What mattered was what she would, and could, do about it. Anna had won the war for Mr. Bates’s heart, but Vera had the battle firmly in hand; and the loss of the battle would make winning the war essentially empty, given Mr. Bates’s insistence on taking the honourable path.

“What does it matter?” Mr. Bates asked. There was a defeated look about him that made Anna sad and sorry for him, but angry with him, too. How could he have let things come to this? “Just say what you want. Spit it out.”

Vera smiled. “You thought you’d got the better of me, but you were wrong.”

“I never th—“ Mr. Bates began, but Vera talked right over him.

“I’m going to sell my story anyway about Lady Mary; about the Turkish gentleman; about Miss Smith here—“

So that was the big secret he’d run away to protect. “It’s got nowt to do with me,” Anna said. As if it mattered to her whether the papers found out she’d carried a dead man through the halls. She hadn’t killed him, after all. It would be embarrassing for Lady Mary, but with Mr. Matthew seriously wounded, Lady Mary had bigger problems than a five-year-old scandal.

“Well,” said Vera, smugly, “that’s not what I heard.”

Anna didn’t bother to argue. She’d never been a violent person, but she badly wanted to wipe the smirk off the other woman’s face with her fist.

“You gave me your word. I gave you the money, and you gave me your word.” Mr. Bates sounded outraged.

For all his experiences, Anna thought, he was such a simple, honourable man at heart. She loved that about him, but it meant he was entirely outmatched by someone like Vera.

On her part, Vera seemed to find his reliance on her honour charmingly contemptible. “Well, guess what,” she said lightly. “I was lying.”

“If I hadn’t come back to Downton, back to Anna, would you have stuck to our agreement?” he asked.

Vera’s gaze flicked to Anna. Was it possible that there was something in those dark eyes, far back, something human? Some leftover bit of love that might explain her incredible stubbornness? Anna found it hard to believe. Quietly, Vera said, “Well, we’ll never know now, will we?”

“You’re angry because I’m happy.”

“Maybe.” Vera gathered her things and stood up, carrying her head high and proud. “But you won’t be happy long.” Her last look at the two of them was venomous, and she left the room, closing the door with a firm thump behind her.

Anna held her lips tight against the way they wanted to tremble at the loss of all her hopes for a resolution to their situation, at the loss of her peace from earlier this afternoon. She couldn’t even look at Mr. Bates. It wasn’t his fault … but in another way, it was. He had been outplayed by his wife at every turn, and Anna was so frustrated and sad and disappointed that she wanted to scream at him. He was slumped forward, defeated, that much she could see out of the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t bring herself to pile on any more. He had done the best he could; he had trusted where he should not have, and they would pay the price for that. At the end, they would win, Anna told herself firmly, no matter what it cost.

“Anna …”

“Later. I’ve got to see to Lady Mary, and then there’s the dinner … We’ll talk later,” she said, trying not to be abrupt. She needed work and movement to get her mind off it all. “Later,” she said again, and hurried from the room.


	103. Two Women More Different

_August 1918_

They met outside that night. Bates was prepared for anything. Vera’s had been a declaration of war; Anna was not a woman built to take such things lying down. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d found it all too distasteful, too steep a mountain to climb. He had been expecting her to begin to feel that way for a long, long while. In a way, perhaps it would be a relief, he told himself, seeing her sitting there waiting for him so quietly, her busy hands folded in her lap.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak, though. If one of them spoke to precipitate the conversation he dreaded, it would have to be her.

Anna didn’t disappoint him. “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

“She is that.”

There was a silence as Bates waited, and Anna gathered her thoughts. “I stopped this afternoon and looked at myself in the glass,” she said conversationally. “It doesn’t seem there could be two women more different than she and I in your world, and I wondered—“

He hung on the pause until he couldn’t take it any longer. “Wondered what?”

“Wondered how you can have chosen us both.”

“Oh.”

“Then I thought … well, you didn’t choose me, did you? I chose you. I practically threw myself at you. Maybe that’s the way I’m like her.” Anna looked up at him, and he felt a chill at the cold blankness of her eyes. “Because I must be, mustn’t I?”

“Must be what? Like Vera?” What a dreadful thought.

“Vera.” Anna tasted the name on her tongue. “You chose her. When you were free and had the ability to choose for yourself, you chose Vera. So if you can love me, too, I must have some of her in me.”

“No!” He looked quickly around to see if anyone was near to have heard the outburst, then sat on the barrel next to Anna’s. He knew better than to reach for her hand, but he leaned towards her, speaking rapidly. “You have it all wrong. The man who chose Vera, if that’s even the right word, wasn’t me. He was sick, and angry, and damaged by war, and he wanted … to stop thinking. Just to feel, and to wallow in anything that made him forget what he had seen. Vera fit that bill admirably,” he said bitterly. “Perhaps she has demons of her own that she’s bent on escaping; she keeps herself to herself. In many ways, I don’t know her any better now than I knew her when we met.”

He thought he saw a small, unhappy smile cross Anna’s face, as if she acknowledged the truth of what he’d said. She had a right to feel that way—he had been well and truly bested by Vera, and should have known it was coming, but somehow had allowed himself to keep his eyes closed and pretend that everything would be fine.

“Anna,” he said urgently, “you have to know that with my sane mind, my sober mind, I would choose you with my last breath. It is my eternal sorrow that I didn’t wait for you—but how was I to know that such a woman as you even existed, much less that you could ever turn your head in my direction? I am the luckiest man in the world, and I bless you for choosing me, for throwing yourself at me. Nothing else would have sunk into my thick head,” he said with a chuckle, and he was glad to see some colour come into Anna’s pale cheeks as she gave a real smile this time. “You are nothing like her.”

“Then …” She was biting her lip now, as if she was afraid to say what was on her mind.

“Tell me.”

“If that’s true, then … why won’t you touch me?” The words came out in a rush, the colour flaming in her face at the boldness of the question.

Heat filled him, heat and guilt and shame for somehow letting her think she was inferior, and he wished he could prove to her right here and now how desperately he wanted her. “God, I want to, Anna. You can’t possibly think I don’t.”

“Then—why? I’ve offered; you know I don’t care about … any of it,” she whispered. “I love you, and I want to be with you.”

“I can’t.” It took almost as much as he had to deny her, but there was no other choice, not and live with himself. “I want you the right way. If I took advantage of your sweet, generous, incredibly tempting offer now, it would be for the same reasons I took Vera—out of lust, and the drowning of the heart in the needs of the body.” Any other time he would have stammered over these frank words said to his innocent Anna, but her honesty demanded nothing less of him. “When you and I are together, I want it to be a time for our whole selves, bodies and hearts and minds, to come together. Anything less is not worthy of you.”

Anna blinked, and he saw a tear slide down her cheek. Then she chuckled, unexpectedly. “There is such a thing as being too honourable, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” Now, hesitantly, he reached for her hand, and she let him take it. “I’m so sorry for all this, Anna. For underestimating Vera and letting things come to such a pass.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No more apologies. We move forward together, and we take each day as it comes. And at the end—we will be together. No matter how.” She gripped his hand hard. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” He cleared his throat. “Now we’re on the subject, I think if I’m going to combat her lies, I need to know the truth. Tell me about the Turk.”


	104. Tell Me About the Turk

_August 1918_

“Tell me about the Turk,” Mr. Bates said again.

Anna sighed, gripping his hand more tightly. “It’s funny that this is still important, even after all this time. And funnier still that the secret is known by everyone, but not by anyone. Except for me, and Lady Mary, and Lady Grantham.” She glanced at Mr. Bates. “And now you.”

“If no one knows, how is it that the rumors have been swirling ever since?”

“I’m not sure. If I had to guess, maybe someone saw us in the hallway? But I’m getting ahead of myself.” She remembered the dead face, those staring eyes when she first saw him in Lady Mary’s bed, and shuddered.

“Are you all right?”

Anna nodded. “It seems so long ago, now, when there was nothing more important to worry about than whether Lady Mary would make a good match. Mr. Evelyn Napier was here, remember?”

“Yes. I liked him.”

“So did I. And Mr. Matthew, and then the Turk, this Mr. Pamuk.”

“The beautiful Mr. Pamuk, if I remember right,” Mr. Bates said, his voice dark with ancient jealousy.

Squeezing his hand, Anna smiled. “That’s right, the beautiful Mr. Pamuk,” she agreed, and then the story was interrupted by Mr. Bates’s low, delicious growl and the slow, thorough kiss he couldn’t help but give her. When it was over, she rested her head against his chest dreamily.

“The Turk, Anna,” Mr. Bates said, his voice rumbling against her ear.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Something drove him clean out of my head.” She sat up, smiling at him, and he chuckled.

“Good.”

“At any rate, as you know, Lady Mary had been playing them off against each other all night, which was all well and good for Mr. Matthew and Mr. Napier, but the Turk was a different kind of man and he took her rather more seriously than she’d expected—he turned up in her bedroom late that night.”

“How did he get there?”

“Hard to say. I’m tempted to blame Thomas, but then, I’m always tempted to blame Thomas.” Anna shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, in the end, because she let Mr. Pamuk stay … and then he died. In—During—“ She could feel her cheeks flaming, and Mr. Bates barked a surprised laugh.

“Really?”

Anna nodded. “Not a word of this to anyone. Ever,” she said fiercely. “It’s not my secret to tell, and obviously even now could ruin Lady Mary.”

“Of course.”

“Not knowing what to do, Lady Mary came and got me, and then we woke Lady Grantham. The obvious thing to do was cover it all up, so we carried him back to his room.”

“The three of you carried a dead body? That’s quite the feat.”

“It wasn’t easy.” Anna could still feel the clammy touch of his skin. She shuddered. “And that was that. The next morning, we were all surprised by the announcement that he’d been … found, and none of us ever breathed a word. Certainly even Lord Grantham doesn’t know.”

“And you think someone saw you?”

“They must have, or how would the rumours have started? Daisy, maybe, getting ready to light the fires, or Miss O’Brien prowling about.” Anna shrugged again. “And that’s the story. So simple, really, for all the fuss, and yet, even with the war, still so important to Lady Mary’s future that it doesn’t get out.”

“You’d think people would have more important things to worry about.”

“Maybe that’s just it,” Anna said. “Maybe having a sordid and rather silly tale about a high-born lady to talk about takes their minds off all the things they’re thinking about and want to forget, if just for a minute.” She thought of William, this time, picturing him dead in a bed the way the Turk had been, and tears sprang to her eyes.

Mr. Bates put his arm around her, bringing her head against his shoulder, and they sat there in the darkness, lost in thought.


	105. To Save My Own Neck

_August 1918_

It was a quiet house these days; with Mr. Matthew in the hospital at the village, and poor William installed in one of the bedrooms here at Downton, everyone had more than enough of the reality of war to sober them. Anna felt guilty for allowing her own problems to distract her from the grief and worry that seemed ever-present in the house, but she couldn’t help it. Vera’s threats, and the ugly triumph in her eyes as she had swept from the room, haunted her. Every time she entered Lady Mary’s bedroom, she thought she ought to say what Vera had threatened, so her ladyship would know, and then she would look at that white, worn face and chastise herself for even thinking of adding to Lady Mary’s burdens.

“Anna. Anna!” Lady Mary’s voice cut through her thoughts as she methodically laid out her ladyship’s night things. “Anna!” Lady Mary said again.

“Yes, my lady?”

“What is it?”

“What is what?”

“What’s bothering you? Something is. You have to tell me.”

“I don’t want to burden you, what with Mr. Matthew—“

Lady Mary sighed, rubbing her temples wearily. “That won’t go away, at least not anytime soon. It might be nice to have something else to think of. Is it to do with Bates?”

“Yes. His wife was here.” As if a dam had been broken, words spilled out of Anna. “She found out he was here, just like I was afraid she would, and it set her off good and proper. She came and spoke to us and told us she wasn’t going to keep her part of the agreement they’d made, that she hadn’t agreed for him to come back here, so he’d broken it, and that she was going to go to the papers with the story … the story of Mr. Pamuk.”

“Mr. Pamuk!” Lady Mary’s eyes widened. “Is that what she threatened to make him go away in the first place?”

“It seems that it is. She’s promised to sell the story if he doesn’t come back to her, and now it seems she’s prepared to follow through. I’m sorry, my lady, I didn’t want to bother you with this, but I thought you ought to know what might happen.”

Lady Mary waved that away. “It’s always been a possibility. The rumour’s been out there for years, anyway.” Her brow furrowed as she turned around to let Anna unfasten her dress. “Whom is she going to sell it to?”

“She didn’t say. Just that there was nothing we could do to stop her.” Anna shook her head. “Mr. Bates has given her every last penny to keep her quiet, but she’s tricked him, and now he’s got nothing left to bargain with.”

Lady Mary sighed as she stepped out of the dress. “Well, we both know what I must do.”

Anna was surprised, but not surprised. Lady Mary didn’t have to shame herself before Sir Richard in asking for his help in order to solve Anna and Mr. Bates’s problem—she could have just said how sorry she was and let it go. But in her way, Lady Mary was as strong as a soldier, as ready to sacrifice for those she cared for, and she was loyal to a fault. Anna was proud to have earned such loyalty from a woman of Lady Mary’s character, but she wasn’t sure it was as easy as Lady Mary was making it out to be. “But how can you ask Sir Richard for help, without telling him the truth?”

Sitting at her vanity, Lady Mary began taking off her rings. There was a faint amusement in her voice as she said, “I’d rather he heard it from my lips than read it over his breakfast.”

Not being one of the gentry, Sir Richard may not have heard the rumours about Lady Mary and Mr. Pamuk himself, although Anna imagined he had heard something. He seemed like a man who would educate himself thoroughly before beginning a relationship with anyone, much less a future bride.

Anna knelt, unfastening Lady Mary’s shoes. “Suppose he won’t do anything? Suppose … he throws you over.”

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take. I’ll go up to London tomorrow afternoon.” Lady Mary set her earrings aside, looking down at Anna. “It’s a request that demands to be made in person.”

“What about Mr. Matthew?”

“Miss Swire will be here to keep him company.”

Anna had to admire the evenness in Lady Mary’s voice. She had made her bed, she was lying in it and making almost everyone believe it was comfortable. Anna knew better, but she admired her ladyship the more for taking things as they were and not crying over what might have been.

Lady Mary slipped off her stockings, glancing up at Anna with resignation. “I think I can take some time off to save my own neck.”


	106. Your Given Name

_August 1918_

Their Sunday-after-church ritual—the long, slow walk back to Downton together, arm in arm. It was a brief moment of pure happiness in their week, during which they had agreed to speak hopefully of the future and let the troubles take care of themselves. Or, at least, Anna had agreed. Bates was less convinced. He felt that pretending everything was simple and rosy only kept Anna from facing the truth of the situation, which was that Vera had him over a barrel and wasn’t likely to let him up anytime soon. Still, he owed Anna, so he went along with her plan and covered his worries with smiles. Even given the depth of those worries, the smiles came easily when he was with her.

As if she was aware of the direction of his thoughts, Anna squeezed his arm and asked, “What is that smile for?”

“You.”

“Oh. Well, then, I’m a lucky one, aren’t I?”

He shook his head. “I’m the lucky one.”

“Now, Mr. Bates, we could go round and round and still not—“

“Why won’t you call me John?” he asked suddenly, cutting off her words without having meant to.

Anna blinked and looked away. “Let’s talk about that another time. This is Sunday, a day of rest, and I think we deserve one.”

“Rest from what? It’s a simple question.” Bates didn’t know why he was getting testy with her, unless it was that her insistence on the formal name was a constant reminder that she didn’t share it with him, and that he had utterly failed to be able to give her what she deserved.

“It’s not a simple answer.”

He should let it go, he told himself. She was right, they needed this one little breath in the week of just time to themselves … but he wasn’t going to be able to let it go now he’d thought of it. “Just say it once, then.”

“No.” Anna shook her head in that determined way he knew so well. He wasn’t going to get her to budge, which only frustrated him the more.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Well, I do!” He controlled his voice with an effort. The others had all gone on ahead, but he still didn’t want to chance being overheard. His personal affairs had already been aired too thoroughly. “I want to talk about it,” he said again.

“Do you remember what happened the last time I used your given name?” she asked in a tight whisper.

He had to think back, but then he remembered, wincing. She had used it once—the night he told her he was leaving with Vera. Bates profoundly regretted beginning the conversation now.

“You do remember,” Anna said. “I promised myself when I saw you at the Red Lion, when I knew that things were—were all right between us, that I wouldn’t use your name again until I had the right to.”

“You have every right—“

“I do not! She does.” Anna pressed her lips together in an effort to control herself, but it failed. “She has the right to your name, all of it, and everything you have, and she wins at every turn, and I will keep this one thing for myself until I have the right—just as you do the other thing. Until you’re ready to talk about having a life together without letting ourselves be manipulated by her, then I’m not willing to use your first name.”

Her eyes were snapping at him, her cheeks flushed with the strength of her feelings, and even though it was the stupidest thing he could possibly say, Bates couldn’t help himself. “My God, you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” He wanted to cut his tongue out, sure that she would turn her back on him and stalk away, but instead she laughed, the fire in her eyes changing to the light of humour.

“That’s a ridiculous thing to say,” she told him.

“Absolutely. Quite ridiculous.” But he was smiling, too, and laughing with her, and she tucked her hand back under his arm, and all was rosy in their particular garden again.


	107. Work and Work

_August 1918_

Anna took her tea outside; it was too warm a night to stay cooped up in the servants’ hall. But instead of Mr. Bates, whom she had expected to see, she found Tom Branson pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. The Dowager was staying late that evening, so Tom was forced to stay there waiting for her. Usually he spent that time with the servants, or tinkering with the car; it was rare to find him away from the machine when he had a spare moment.

“Something on your mind?” Anna asked him, when his pacing was beginning to make her dizzy.

“What?” he snapped, then he relaxed, seeing her there. “Oh, it’s you, Anna.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Around here? Anyone,” he said bitterly. “Anyone at all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is it the soldiers?” The convalescent patients were a trial to everyone. Not that any individual man was so much trouble, but they had all been used to having Downton to themselves, and now it was filled with strangers who needed something at all hours. The nurses took care of most of it, but still … it threw off the routines, and kept everyone a bit unsettled. Anna felt guilty for even thinking such things, knowing that there were men dying in the trenches in France—that poor William lay dying just above her head. Surely a little unsettling was a small price to pay compared to what the young men had given. “It’s not their fault,” she said to Tom, more sharply than she’d intended.

“No, of course it isn’t. And it isn’t them, at all. It’s—“ He flushed to the ears, the toe of his shoe scuffing the ground like a schoolboy, and Anna understood.

“Lady Sybil.”

Tom nodded.

“What’s she done?” Anna asked. “What could she possibly have done?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh. Then what’s the trouble?”

“No, you don’t see. She’s done nothing. I told her, Anna. She’s known how I feel since … since before she went off to train to be a nurse. And she’s done nothing. She won’t even say—“

Anna’s heart twisted at the pain in his voice, pain that he had perforce to keep bottled up, since there were all too few who would understand his feelings. But Anna did. “Maybe she doesn’t feel the same,” she suggested gently.

“That’s the thing.” Tom’s eyes were blazing with all the fire of his young revolutionary heart. “I know she does. I can see it in her eyes. But she’s afraid.”

“Of course she is,” Anna said impatiently. “You’re not asking her to go down the road and nurse a few men in the hospital her grandmother administrates—you’re asking her to leave everyone she loves behind and run off with you, knowing that no one she knows will understand or approve.”

“You would.”

Would she? Anna felt flattered that he thought so. Then she thought of Mr. Bates, and Vera, and she had to admit Tom was right. She’d give up everything in a heartbeat if it meant Mr. Bates would be hers once and for all.

Tom seemed to see that she followed his thoughts. “How do you do it, Anna?”

“Do what?”

“How do you keep hoping and working toward the future you want when—when nothing ever changes?”

Anna had to smile a little at that. “It does seem as though Mr. Bates and I take two steps back for every step we take forward, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

She looked up at the sky, a deep grey now as the late summer twilight was falling. “I’ve never really thought about it,” she admitted. “I just … knew what I wanted. I always have. And I know that I won’t be happy without him. So what other choice do I have? If I gave up on him, just assumed that his wife would win and he’d never have a divorce and we’d just go on like this always, that’s not easier. That’s a lifetime of misery.” She nodded briskly. “I guess that’s it, Tom. Working hard has always been the right answer for me. I’d rather work and work toward what I want and never get there than give up and just be happy with nothing.” Anna looked him in the eye. “So now you have to ask yourself the same—you could give up on Lady Sybil, decide that she’s never going to look your way … and I’m not saying that would be the wrong thing to do, mind you,” she added, still not sure if she should be supporting this or not. “Or you can wait, patiently, for her to make up her mind and help her to trust that you are the right path for her life. Which one seems like the happier course?”

Tom held her gaze, a new determination and a calmness in his. “Lady Sybil,” he said firmly. “Every time.”

“Then give her time, Tom. One thing I can tell you—Lady Sybil has never done what anyone expected her to do.”

“I suppose that makes her a lot like you.” Tom grinned. “Thank you, Anna.”

“You’re welcome.”

He was called to go pick up the Dowager, and Anna watched him go. The stars were coming out, and she was at peace.


	108. Flowers

_September 1918_

With all the others, Bates stood in the servants’ hall, watching Daisy as she prepared for her wedding. Unused to being the focus of so much attention, still clearly conflicted about having agreed to this wedding at all, and heartsick over the somber reason behind the haste, as they all were, Daisy fidgeted.

Mr. Carson came into the room, bearing a bouquet of flowers. “His lordship asked Mr. Vassey to bring these in for you.”

As Daisy turned to take them, Anna said, “Oh, how lovely.” Bates wasn’t certain he agreed with her. He knew Lord Grantham meant it as a gesture of sympathy and understanding, but making this seem like a normal wedding, a joyous occasion, struck Bates as slightly grotesque. They all knew. Although, on the other hand, poor William didn’t know as much as the rest of them. He would die secure in his delusion that he was Daisy’s true love, as she was his, and that, at least, was a blessing.

Anna moved forward, putting her arm around Daisy’s shoulders and taking the bouquet from Daisy’s unresisting hands. “Here, Daisy. Sit down.”

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Daisy said softly. “It’s a lie; you know it is.” She looked up at Anna, beseechingly.

“But you’re doing it out of the goodness of your heart,” Mrs. Patmore said, sure as she had been all along that that made it all right. Bates had never been able to decide who was in the right of that particular mess; Mrs. Patmore believed the lies had been the right thing, but Daisy had wanted to be true to William by being true to herself, and how could one deny someone their own integrity?

“The falseness of my heart, more like,” Daisy muttered. She bowed her head, letting Anna fix her hair, but no amount of ministrations would fix her heart, not today … and probably not tomorrow.

When her hair was done, Daisy just sat there, staring blankly at the flowers in front of her. No one knew what to say, so they all clustered around silently. In their black uniforms, Bates thought they made the wedding look like what it really was—the funeral of a man who hadn’t quite died yet.

Mrs. Hughes came in. “You look lovely, dear,” she said to Daisy. Then, to the rest of them, “Just to say—the vicar is ready for us.”

Mr. Carson offered his arm to Daisy. “Let’s go up, then.”

There was a moment of hesitation as Anna held the flowers out to Daisy, and she looked from them to Mr. Carson’s arm and back that Bates wondered if she was really going to go through with it after all. Then she took the flowers, and stood up and took Mr. Carson’s arm. Suddenly he realized that little Daisy the kitchen maid was a woman. She had grown up while all the rest of them were preoccupied with their own problems … and he, for one, was proud of the woman they had all helped to create.

Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore followed Mr. Carson and Daisy up the stairs, and then Bates went with Anna. They were all silent, but none so much as the solemn, determined little bride, who was preparing to offer a dying man his last wish at the expense of her own conscience. William would spend his last moments in happiness, but Bates foresaw Daisy spending months, if not years, ahead suffering with guilt over her own albeit innocent and forced deception. Was it worth it? he wondered. Anna, who believed in an afterlife, would say yes. But he wasn’t so sure there was anything after death … he knew he would never want Anna sacrificing herself the way Daisy was, not to suffer after he was gone.

In the end, he was glad it wasn’t his choice, and impressed with Daisy for having made her decision and sticking to it.


	109. Gathered Here

_September 1918_

By the time Bates entered the room, William and Daisy were already hand in hand. She studied her flowers, trying to look modest and shy, but to Bates’s eyes, she just seemed miserable, poor girl. William lay in his bed, his breathing shallow, his eyes fixed on Daisy with wonder and adoration. On his own deathbed, Bates imagined he might well look at Anna that way.

He took his place next to Anna amongst the other servants, and they waited while the minister took his time finding the right place in his prayer book. At last he was ready, William and Daisy were ready, they were all ready—as ready as they ever could be for what was about to take place.

The minister began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Which is an honourable estate instituted by God in the time of man’s innocence …”

As the minister spoke, Daisy lifted her head, looking at him almost in surprise, as though somehow she hadn’t expected him to be willing to go through with it, and then she collected herself and looked down at William and managed a small smile in response to his whole-souled joy. William’s father stood next to them, and Bates wondered what he was feeling. His son’s last moments; his only child, dying there in the bed, and here they all were gathered around as they went through the motions of a marriage that could never truly be. Was William’s father pleased with this? Was he unhappy with William’s decision to marry, did he hope that Daisy would be for him as the child he lost? Bates couldn’t imagine what must be going through the man’s mind, and his face told nothing of his emotions. He merely stood there, straight and tall and respectful. They had always loved and supported William so, and William had esteemed his parents so much that Bates had to think this was occurring with Mr. Mason’s blessing.

As the minister continued, William’s eyes closed as a spasm of pain wracked him. In front of the servants, Mrs. Patmore’s straight shoulders crumpled as she winced with him. Could she be wondering if she had done right by encouraging Daisy this way?

He glanced down at Anna briefly, glad that she was here next to him, glad that he could be here with her. Tender-hearted as she was, he imagined she might need his shoulder to cry on later, and he was intensely grateful that he could be that for her, if not everything else she needed him to be.

“If any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else, hereafter, forever hold his peace.”

Bates was glad the minister kept on at that—he thought it was in rather poor taste to have left it in. It was common knowledge in the servants’ hall that the dowager had had to bully him into it over his objections that Daisy might be marrying William just for his soldier’s benefits. The dowager was here today, sitting in front with a handkerchief over her eyes. She had always taken an interest in William, and Bates believed her tears were genuine. In the war he had heard many stories about Lord Grantham’s mother, some to her credit and some decidedly not, but here in Downton he had grown to admire her as a woman who would not hesitate for a moment to force other people to do what she felt was right. For a woman of her age and class, she could do no better than that, in Bates’s view. There were ways in which she reminded him of his own mother.

“Hand me the ring,” the minister said, his voice rough. The emotion in the room must be affecting him. Even Mr. Carson’s chin was quivering, Bates noticed.

Mr. Mason dug in his waistcoat pocket for the ring, passing it across to the minister, and William reverently slid it onto Daisy’s work-roughened hand.

The minister said, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Bates wished they could all leave now, give William some privacy for the only kiss his wedded life was likely to see. He looked down to avoid watching. William seemed pleased, although he clearly was struggling for breath, and a new tenderness had entered into Daisy’s gaze.

Filing out behind the rest of the servants, Bates wished he could say something to the boy, one last word of comfort, but he had none. He had only anger at the world for another life lost in another senseless war, pity for the young man who had achieved his life’s dream only to lose it, and admiration for the young girl whose gallant heart was allowing her to let him die with his hopes as fulfilled as they could be.


	110. Doesn't Seem Fair

_September 1918_

It wasn’t until later that night that Anna was able to meet Mr. Bates for a quiet moment alone. They had it in the upstairs hall, to be sure, with only a few minutes to spare, and where anyone could be walking by, so she couldn’t find comfort in his arms or even by holding his hand, but just standing in his presence, knowing he was there with her, helped. Daisy’s plight, and William’s especially, had touched Anna to the heart. She was certain that deep down Daisy loved William better than she had ever let on—she had always been the first to look after his welfare, even when she’d been dazzled by Thomas’s showier personality. And unlike Daisy herself, Anna had no doubt that someday Daisy would come to look back on this day and be glad that she had allowed herself to be talked into it. The look on William’s face in her memory would have to make it worth while.

Nonetheless, for all that Anna was convinced of the wedding being a good thing, she had found it hard to watch.

“Do you think she’ll be all right?” she asked Mr. Bates in a hasty whisper. Not in the end, not twenty years from now—Anna was certain Daisy would be all right by then—but in the time right ahead of them, when the young bride and soon-to-be-widow’s conscience would torment her miserably.

“If we could keep her away from Mrs. Patmore, I’d be sure of it,” Mr. Bates whispered back. “Daisy’ll be tormented enough without someone else telling her what good she’s done.”

“She did a good thing.”

“Unquestionably, for William. But Daisy doesn’t think it was right, and that will be the trouble to come.”

“That poor boy.” Anna could feel her chin quivering, and she tried to hold back her tears. “It doesn’t seem fair, to have come home and gotten everything he wanted and to know that he has to give it up as soon as he has it.”

“Life isn’t fair, Anna, you know that. And war is—less so.”

Anna was sure there was much stronger language behind that hesitation, and she didn’t blame him. He must look at William and the other convalescing young men that filled Downton and see himself and the men he had fought beside so long ago. As must Lord Grantham. She could only think it must be torture for them. “I know. Still.”

“Still,” he agreed.

“I almost—I almost wish we hadn’t been there,” Anna said hurriedly. “Maybe they should have had privacy.”

“Yes. I felt the same.”

“We will have to be very kind to her.”

“We’ll have to treat her just as we always do. She won’t want our pity; she’ll take it the wrong way.”

Anna thought about that for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.” She couldn’t help but see it all again in her mind’s eye, the pale bedridden bridegroom struggling for every breath, and the equally pale bride torn between what she saw as her duty and what she believed was the truth. Anna shivered, blinking the stinging tears from her eyes. Hallway or not, she needed the comfort of Mr. Bates’s touch or she’d never be able to go about her work. She reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his, feeling the automatic way he shifted his grip to allow her hand to nestle within his bigger one. Anna lifted her eyes to Mr. Bates’s, seeing there the strength and comfort she had so needed. And the thought came to her that in every way that mattered, they were already as one. A piece of paper would be a nice thing to have, a ring that would let the world know, but in all the important ways she was his and he was hers. “Thank you.” By which she really meant, “I love you,” a sentiment too private for the upstairs hall.

His smile said he knew what she meant, and returned the sentiment. “You’re welcome.”

And then she let go of his hand and went about her work. She still felt sorrow for William and for Daisy, but the wracking anguish that had threatened her had passed.


	111. A Gag on Vera

_September 1918_

As Bates made his way down the hall, lost in thought, Lady Mary came up the stairs behind him, calling his name.

“What’s happened?” she asked. “How’s William?”

There was no point in sugar-coating the truth, and Lady Mary was never one to have life’s realities hidden from her anyway. “He’s nearly there, my lady.”

Her shoulders slumped. She looked unutterably weary. “I’m so sorry.” She hesitated for a moment, her eyes on the carpet, then seemed to straighten, raising her head and looking him in the eye. “Actually … Bates, I’m glad I’ve caught you. Sir Richard Carlisle telephone me earlier. He says he’s paid Mrs. Bates for her story. She cannot speak of it now without risking prison.”

“She won’t do that,” he said quickly. It was difficult to stand here discussing the humiliating details of his personal failure in life with Lady Mary, who always seemed so in charge of everything she did. And he was intensely aware of the sacrifice she had had to make, debasing herself by telling the truth about Pamuk to Richard Carlisle, and all because he hadn’t had the strength or the wit to deal with Vera as she needed to be dealt with.

Lady Mary’s eyes were on him, serious and steady. “So I hope we can all forget it.”

“It’s forgotten already, my lady.” He felt badly, suddenly, that he had asked Anna for the story.

There was a faint smile on her lips. “Thank you.”

He should have been thanking her; she had removed Vera’s ammunition at a significant cost to herself. Forgetting what he knew about her life was the least he could do in return. But he couldn’t say so; for as much as he knew Anna felt great affection for this woman standing before him, he had never been able to feel comfortable in her presence. Far more than her father, Lady Mary had a way about her that kept the invisible wall between family and servant firmly in place, and she took that wall down only when she chose. Unable to think of a graceful way to say anything further, Bates began to turn away, but was stopped as Lady Mary continued speaking.

“I’m afraid she was very angry when she knew she had been silenced.”

Angry was no doubt an understatement. “I can imagine,” he said dryly.

“He said she made threats against you.”

That, too, he could well imagine, and it chilled him to think what she might come up with next. Vera was an imaginative woman.

“’If I go down, I’ll take him with me,’ that sort of thing.” Lady Mary made it sound like a line from a bad melodrama, but Bates could hear Vera’s voice saying the words, and they didn’t sound ridiculous to him. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it,” Lady Mary said, and Bates was suddenly reminded of the great gap in age and experience that lay between him and the woman in front of him. She knew so little about what people were truly capable of.

“Are you, my lady?” he asked.

Her eyes fell before his sardonic look. “Well … You’d know better than I.” They looked at each other, for the moment just man and woman, not mistress and servant, then both turned and went back to their own places.

As Bates made his way down the hall, Anna appeared ‘round the corner with a tray in her hands. He couldn’t help the automatic lift in his heart that came when he saw her. What did it matter if Vera made threats? He had Anna at his side every day, and Vera couldn’t take that away again.

Anna paused in front of him, whispering, “Lady Mary’s back.”

“I’ve just seen her. She says it’s worked. Sir Richard has put a gag on Vera.”

“Thank God,” Anna said. “So … everything in our garden is rosy again?”

He wanted to assure her, but couldn’t bring himself to be as positive as she was. “I hope so. I certainly hope so.”

Anna gave him a little smile, hesitant but hopeful. God, he wanted to kiss her. But she hurried down the hall with the heavy tray.

The threat was dealt with; Vera was helpless, but angry, like an animal in a trap. But wasn’t that when they were most dangerous? Bates went back about his work with a heart that should have been light but was as heavy as lead.


	112. You Two Set Apart

_November 1918_

Anna quite liked this new maid, Jane. She was friendly, did her work quickly and well and without complaining, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that made Anna wish they had more time to spend together; she imagined they could become quite good friends, in time. They were spending a quiet, happy hour together with handwork at the table—Anna trimming a hat and Jane darning a stocking. Mr. Bates was with them, cleaning a spot off one of his lordship’s coats, and Miss O’Brien, quieter than she used to be before the war, cleaning off some jewelry of her ladyship’s. Thomas’s promotion, which meant that most of the time he was too busy to sit at the table over a smoke, had added greatly to the peace of the house—and something about the war, or possibly even before it, had wearied Miss O’Brien. She wasn’t half the nasty bit of goods she used to be, which was a considerable relief.

They were chatting lightly about Anna’s favorite topic: the plans she and Mr. Bates had after they were married.

“And you think you’ll stay on at Downton?” Jane asked.

“For some time, at least, until we get properly settled,” Mr. Bates said.

Anna might have imagined it, but she thought he sent a look her way that had a faint hint of naughtiness. At least, the way he said “properly settled” gave her a little tingly thrill, imagining what those words might mean to a married couple.

“I’ve never worked in a house where a valet and a housemaid were wed.” Jane smiled, squinting a bit at the fine fabric she was working on.

“It’ll be unusual, I agree.” Anna couldn’t help her own smile; how eagerly she wanted the time to pass and that happy day to arrive.

“I hope it doesn’t break us up,” Miss O’Brien said dourly, “having you two set apart in a home of your own, all special, while the rest of us muddle on for ourselves.”

Anna couldn’t tell if that was just Miss O’Brien’s general bitterness or if it was something more specific. Had Miss O’Brien ever wanted her own home? Had she dreamed of marriage? She’d been there since well before Anna came to Downton, and had been lady’s maid and parlor maid and housemaid in houses before that. Surely if she’d wanted such a thing, she’d have had opportunities—but then, she was so sour, maybe they had come and gone without her noticing. Anna wondered for the first time what dreams Miss O’Brien might have for her future. Did she intend to stay on with Lady Grantham until she was too old to work?

“You sound as if you’re jealous,” she said teasingly, hoping to surprise some kind of admission out of the other woman.

Miss O’Brien drew herself up indignantly at the very idea. “No, I’m not jealous. I just don’t want it to spoil things.”

“Why?” Mr. Bates asked without looking up from his work. “Because we’ve all been such pals until now?”

Whatever Miss O’Brien might have said in response was silenced by the appearance of Daisy with a tea tray. A black armband was conspicuous against the pink fabric of her dress, but no more so than the very air of darkness that hung around her. The sorrow over the loss of William, the guilt over her innocent but well-meant deception, and a barely-hidden resentment of the rest of them for being complicit with her in what she viewed as a lie had Daisy in a black place indeed. All the staff’s overtures toward her had been rebuffed; there was nothing they could do but wait it out and hope she came through to the other side all right.

She put the tea things down with a loud rattle, then straightened up and looked at them all. Anna tried to force a pleasant smile, but it failed in the face of Daisy’s unhappiness.

Daisy turned and walked out of the room without any further acknowledgement of them. The rest of them looked at each other helplessly.

“Give her time,” Anna said optimistically. Daisy was too young to give herself over to grief for the long run. No one responded to Anna; everyone turned back to their work, silently.


	113. Not Sure

_November 1918_

The table was full, everyone sitting around it whiling away the time now that dinner had been served, waiting for the family to ring when they were ready to go to bed. It was a terrible time to be having a private conversation, but Anna had seemed so agitated all day that Bates couldn’t help wanting to reassure her. He leaned his head as close to hers as he could.

“What is it?”

“I’m just … impatient.”

“Impatient?”

“Nervous.” She glanced around them quickly; no one seemed to be paying them any attention. “Nothing seems to be happening. What if something goes wrong and the divorce doesn’t go through?”

“We’re safe. We’ve got the decree nisei. I’m sure it’s all right.” He tried to sound sincere, but he had the same concerns as Anna had; more, truthfully, since he knew Vera and what she was capable of. If there was a loophole, she was likely to find her way through it.

As always, Anna could read him like a book. “Except you’re not sure,” she began, but she was cut off by O’Brien, who turned around at those words.

“Not sure about what?”

Anna just looked at her, and O’Brien let it go. Jane, bent over her sewing, picked up a previous conversation with Thomas. “What about you, Sergeant? You started planning for after the war?”

“Not really, not yet,” Thomas responded, lifting his ever-present cigarette to his lips.

Mrs. Patmore said, “I know what you should be doing. I know what we should all be doing.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Thomas asked without looking up from his paper.

“Hoardin’.”

At that, Thomas did look at the cook. Clearly that hadn’t been the response he’d expected.

Mrs. Patmore continued, “It may be wrong, but this rationin’ is startin’ to bite. Even with everyone’s books, I’d a battle to get enough sugar for this week.”

“Mr. Bates,” Anna said softly, pulling his attention back to her, just as Thomas leaned toward Mrs. Patmore.

Naturally, anything smacking of a cheap way to get around the rules would draw Thomas’s attention. Bates was sure he heard the words “Black Market,” and he hoped Thomas knew what he was getting into.

“Are you sure there’s no monkey wrench she can throw into the works?” Anna said, and he pulled his attention back to Vera and the issues that came with her.

“No, I’m not sure, but I know what the lawyer tells me, which is that the decree nisei ought to be enough to ensure that the decree absolute goes through. If she did try to do something, it would only make her look bad in front of the judge, and that wouldn’t help her case.” He wanted to reach for her hand, but couldn’t in front of all these people. “All we have to do is wait.”

“Waiting I know how to do,” Anna said with a rare burst of bitterness. “I’m afraid by the time this is all done I’ll have forgotten how to do anything else.” She got up abruptly, taking her teacup and going into the kitchen, and Bates leaned back in his chair, stretching out his aching leg as best he could. He couldn’t help but feel Anna was right—after all this waiting, anything else was beginning to seem impossible.


	114. All That Matters

_November 1918_

They’d been sitting at tea, enjoying a quick cup before the dressing and dinner began, when Mr. Bates was called to the telephone. He tried to hurry so that Anna wouldn’t follow him, but she must have felt the same sick sense of foreboding that he did, because she got up and came after him.

His lawyer was on the other end, and it could not have been worse. Vera had contacted the lawyer, letting him know she intended to state in court that she had agreed to the divorce only because Bates had paid her, and the decree nisei, on which Bates had pinned all his hopes, would be voided.

“That’s ridiculous,” he snapped, his anger at Vera overriding his courtesy.

“Surely you can’t be blaming me?” the lawyer said, aggrieved.

Bates gathered himself with an effort, aware of Anna’s eyes fixed on him. “No, I’m sorry, of course I’m not saying it’s your fault.” But of course, what did a man get a lawyer for if not to protect him from situations like this? Then again, the lawyer had advised against paying her, and Bates had insisted, sure that Vera’s greed would win out in the end. “It’s mine,” he said, defeated. “It’s all mine.”

“I’ll be in touch when I know anything more.”

“Yes. Thank you,” Bates said faintly. “Good-bye.”

He hung up the telephone. He couldn’t even look at Anna; even from the corner of his eye, he could see from her white, strained face that she already knew the news was bad.

“She’s only going to tell the judge that I paid her to agree to a divorce,” he muttered.

“I suppose you did, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I bloody well did.” He held his temper only because this was Anna, and none of this was her fault. He wanted to shout and throw things, to do an injury to Vera, or, failing that, to himself.

Anna, always practical, pulled herself together first. “So what does it mean?”

“Because we withheld it from the court, it means the judge can withdraw the decree nisei. It means I’m not divorced, after all, and above all it means …” His breath caught in his throat. He had failed her yet again, his brave, strong Anna, who had stood by him through it all. “That I am a stupid, stupid, stupid man.”

She came to him, tucking her arm through his, supporting him as she had so often. “This won’t change a thing. We are going to be together, whether she wants it or not,” she said, looking him in the eye and daring him not to believe as strongly as she did. “If we have to leave here, if we have to leave the country, we are going to be together.” Her strength gave him strength, and calmed the rising tide of anger and despair in him.

Bates took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing her fingers. He didn’t deserve her. “Why don’t you yell at me?” he asked. “This is my fault, every moment of it. Vera—I can’t seem to get ahead of her, or figure out what she wants. Why aren’t you angry with me?”

“This isn’t your fault.” She pressed closer against him. “You’ve been honourable and tried to do the right thing, you’ve treated Vera as well as you could. This is her fault, and if she was here, I’d yell right enough.”

He shuddered at the thought. Vera against Anna? Anna wouldn’t stand a chance. Vera fought dirty, and she was no stranger to a physical brawl. “I am so sorry.”

“I am, too. But it doesn’t matter. Because I can wait—I’ve had lots of practice at that—and she’s too impatient. We’ll win through in the end. You’ll see.”

They could hear the dressing gong, and Anna started to pull away, but Bates held her hand, pulling her against him, his lips seeking hers. He needed the contact to let him believe as she did, needed her strength. When the kiss was over, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment. “I love you.”

“And I love you. And that’s all that matters.”


	115. To Be with Him

_November 1918_

Anna fluffed up the pillow briskly, putting it back on the bed with a final pat. It might not be her bed, but that didn’t stop her from pretending it was, pretending she was preparing it for herself and Mr. Bates to sleep in. She sighed, thinking of it.

“I know that sigh.” Jane looked up from the other pillow, her eyes twinkling. “I bet I can guess what you’re thinking.”

“You probably can.” Anna couldn’t help blushing.

Jane laughed, but it turned into a wistful sigh of her own. “I remember those early days, when I couldn’t think of anything but … him.” Her voice trailed off, and she blushed, too. Anna thought it was sweet that the other maid still thought of her husband that way—sweet, but sad.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What? Oh! No, no need for that. Better to have memories of happiness than to have had none at all.” Jane put her pillow down and reached for the coverlet. “Anna, do you mind my asking, what is it with Mr. Bates’s wife? You hear gossip, but I’d rather ask you than listen to Thomas.”

“I don’t blame you for that.” Anna took the other edge of the coverlet, and together they pulled it up and patted it into place. “She’s quite a piece of work, Mr. Bates’s wife, nasty and vindictive. She doesn’t want to be left on her own, and she doesn’t want to see him happy with someone else. So she’s making it as hard as she can for him to get his divorce.”

“Didn’t he go away with her for a while?”

Anna winced, and Jane hastily apologized for bringing up bad memories. “No, it’s all right,” Anna said. “That was a hard time.” She sank down onto the edge of the bed, the pain and longing of those days rushing through her all over again. “She threatened to sell stories about the family to the papers, scandalous stories, and he felt he had no choice but to go away from Downton—away from me.” The last words were a whisper; the urge to cry was closing her throat. She fought against it, and Jane came around the bed to sit next to her, putting an arm around Anna’s shoulders. The simple contact threatened to break Anna’s control, and she had to forcibly remind herself that those dark days were over, that Mr. Bates had come back to Downton, back to her, and that he had promised never to be so foolish again. She cleared her throat. “I can’t figure what she wants, though,” she said. “She knows he loves me and that he’s not coming back to her, no matter what she does, and the threats she made have been … dealt with.” She thought of Lady Mary, having to humble herself by telling the story of Mr. Pamuk to Sir Richard. Then again, if they really were to marry, perhaps that was the right thing to do. Honesty was always a good place to start a marriage.

“Maybe she’s just angry. I’d be, if I thought my husband was …” Jane trailed off again, biting her lip and looking away.

Thinking Jane was embarrassed over an implied criticism of Anna and Mr. Bates’s romance, Anna hastened to reassure her. “I know. I didn’t plan it—when we first met, I didn’t know he was married, and by the time I knew … it was too late for me. I couldn’t have stopped loving him if I’d tried.” She smiled. “Admittedly, I didn’t try very hard.”

Jane laughed, but it was a sad little laugh, and Anna wondered if she was thinking of her husband again. “So his wife wants to get her last little licks in, while she still has him tied to her?”

“It looks that way. It’s hard to wait, but at least now I know it has to be over soon. She can’t delay too far—eventually he’ll have the divorce, or I’ll convince him to go away with me somewhere where it won’t matter.”

“And leave Downton?”

“To be with him, I’d leave behind everything I’ve ever known,” Anna said, surprising herself with her own vehemence.

Next to her, Jane nodded. Softly she said, “’I loved, I love you; for this love have lost/state, station, heaven, mankind’s, my own esteem/And yet cannot regret what it hath cost/so dear is still the memory of that dream.’ Lord Byron,” she added, at Anna’s questioning look.

“Yes, that’s it. That’s it exactly.” Anna repeated the words to herself, so she would remember them.

“How long will you wait?” Jane asked softly.

“I don’t know. It may be a while yet. Mr. Bates is an honourable man—he wants to do things the straightforward, upright way, and I love that about him, but I don’t think that his wife’s mind works in straightforward, upright paths. I imagine he’ll take some time realizing that.” Anna sighed, suddenly, reaching out to stroke the coverlet over the fluffy pillow. “All I want is, even just once, to go into a room with him and shut the door behind us and …”

Jane nudged her, a knowing smile on her face. “I’m sure you do.”

Blushing again, Anna grinned. “Not just that—I mean, that … yes.” She pushed away the sudden memory of Mr. Bates’s mouth on hers, hot and hungry, with a little shiver. “But more than that, too,” she said more seriously. “Just to be alone together, able to talk without being listened to, without having to hide away in corners. Just a room that would be our own, even if only for a little while.” She sighed, thinking of how much longer it was likely to be before that dream came true, and pushed herself up off the bed. “Shall we move on?”

Jane nodded, getting up and smoothing out the wrinkles they had made in the coverlet. They left the room, working together on the next in companionable silence


	116. To Make a Space

_November 1918_

Bates stretched out his leg, rubbing the stiff muscles, sighing in relief when the pain eased. If only there was such a remedy for the unpleasantnesses in his head—the lawyer’s sharp tones, Anna’s pinched and disappointed face, Vera’s clever slipping of the knot he thought he’d tied her up in. Every time he thought he had lured her out of the path and made the way clear for him to be with Anna, Vera managed to escape and pop right back up in front of him. He didn’t know how she kept doing it, but it was driving him crazy. He wanted to swing at her, to knock her out of the way, to go charging down that path and bowl her over. But he couldn’t, because she kept turning to mist just as he thought he was about to strike.

He rubbed his eyes against the burning, stinging sensation that he refused to give way to; it was the sensation of despair, and he owed Anna more than that. No matter how determined Vera was, he told himself, Anna was more so. Anna refused to take no for an answer … but then, so did Vera. And the worst of it was that he wasn’t sure he understood why either one of them did it. What was there in him for Anna to love, for Vera to cling to so fixedly? He was just a man, an exceptionally flawed and sometimes stupid man, and they were both women who could have done much better for themselves.

Stretching out on the bed, Bates looked up at the ceiling, determined to find another way. Wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to remove Vera from his life. What would? Money hadn’t worked. Compliance hadn’t worked. Nor had disappearing, or taking away Vera’s power by getting Lady Mary to admit shameful things to her future husband, or blackmailing Vera with those incriminating letters. What more could he do?

Perhaps if he understood, he thought. A vision of Vera’s sneering face came before him. How could he understand that? She had always hidden her true self behind a seemingly impenetrable wall. Somehow he had to get through that wall … and there seemed to be no way through but to talk to her. He would have to go to London, he realized with a sinking heart. He would have to see Vera, and talk to her, and find out what it was that she truly wanted. It wasn’t a conversation he was cut out for. She was a subtle, devious woman, and he a straightforward man. That had always been their trouble. But there was no help for it. No one else could do this for him; he had made this mess, and he would have to be the one to clean it up.

With a sudden fierce longing, he missed his mother. She would have had some good advice, he thought. She’d never had any use for Vera, but she’d understood her better than Bates himself ever had.

He tried to think what his mother might say, but her counsel was lost to him now these several years. There was no one to count on but himself—he had to talk Vera out of this, to make a space for himself and Anna.


	117. Do Not Lose Your Temper

_November 1918_

Bates had been dreading this conversation. The last thing he wanted to do was air his dirty laundry at all, much less in front of this man who had stood by him and supported him so generously. But there was no helping it; Vera had agreed to see him, and so he must have the clearance he needed to go and visit her and—do what? Talk to her? Argue with her? Fight with her? He’d never seen anything or anyone persuade Vera to do something she hadn’t already determined on doing, and he was no exception. What made him think he could convince her now, when he had nothing left to offer? Worse, when he didn’t even know what she wanted.

But there was no point beating around the bush in this moment, at least. After working his courage up during most of Lord Grantham’s dressing time, he finally managed to speak. “Your lordship, I need to go to London tomorrow.” He turned away, hoping to forestall questions. “I’ve spoken to Mr. Carson, he has no objection.”

Lord Grantham sighed. “Please say this concerns property and not the former Mrs. Bates.”

Bates winced. It was exactly that type of comment—and attitude—he had been hoping to avoid. “I only wish she was the ‘former’, my lord,” he said bitterly. He couldn’t help seeing her smirking face, so superior. “Or better still, the late.”

His employer’s hands stilled on his waistcoat buttons as he stared at Bates. “Indeed,” he said, in a voice Bates couldn’t quite read. But his lordship knew Bates better than almost anyone—in some ways, better than Anna, as he had seen in the war the full extent of what Bates was capable of—and he was right to be concerned.

“I have to reason with her; I have no other choice,” Bates said, trying to convince himself as much as Lord Grantham. “She’s found a reason to delay things, again. No, not delay,” he said, his ire rising. “She’s found a way to ruin things.”

“Be sensible, Bates. Above all, do not lose your temper,” Lord Grantham said firmly. They both knew what Bates was capable of—things had happened in the war that he still couldn’t remember without wincing. It had been all right then … it had been war. And while this was war, it had very different rules. Lord Grantham was quiet, waiting for Bates’s response, for his assurance that he was master of himself.

But Bates was unable to make any promises. He was angry—more angry than he could remember ever having been, and he wanted her out of the way. In this mood, he shouldn’t be going anywhere near Vera, but as he had told his lordship, he had no choice. Vera had made that very clear when he contacted her about this meeting.

His lordship sighed. “Be careful, Bates. Don’t do anything that … that Anna would regret later.”

Bates nodded. He wanted to cling to that, to the gentle steadiness of Anna, to the man he had become in her company. He just didn’t know if he could.


	118. The War Is Over

_November 1918_

The rest of the servants were talking over the war news at dinner, but Anna couldn’t keep her mind on current events other than the ones threatening to spoil her life. “I wish I understood what she hopes to gain from all this.”

“Revenge. On me.”

“Was it that bad?”

Mr. Bates looked at her, clearly not willing to answer the question in the middle of dinner, even if no one was paying attention to them.

Anna sighed. “What can we do about it?”

“I’ll have to go up to London.”

On the one hand, she was glad he was doing something; on the other, she held little faith that he could convince Vera to see reason—he hadn’t been able to so far. “What will you say to her that you haven’t said already?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Bates said, putting down his fork. “But I know that staying here won’t make any difference.”

“You’re always going up and down to London these days, Mr. Bates,” interjected Miss O’Brien. To anyone else, the question might appear casual, but there was a hint of slyness in her expression that told Anna she knew what was going on.

“I have business in London,” Mr. Bates replied.

“Oh, yes? Well, judging by your expression, your business doesn’t seem to be prospering.”

Thomas smirked at Miss O’Brien’s comment. Naturally, whatever O’Brien knew, she would have told him. Anna seethed. As if Vera wasn’t bad enough, to have to sit here and be twitted about their helplessness at dinner, in front of everyone. She had half a mind to throw her plate across the table.

“The trick of business,” she said pointedly, “is to mind your own.”

What might have become of the conversation from there—surely nothing good—was interrupted by the arrival of Lord Grantham in the room, and everyone’s hasty putting down of forks and scraping of chairs to rise in his presence.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I—“ Lord Grantham paused until they were all standing. He was smiling broadly. “I’ve just heard news from the war office, and I thought you’d all like to know that the war is over.”

The room burst into gasps and sobs of happiness. Anna turned to Mr. Bates, reaching up to put her arms around his neck. She was standing here hearing the best news she could imagine—well, second best, she supposed—with him at her side. Despite Vera. She would have to remember that going forward, and not let his former wife’s shenanigans get her down again.

“The ceasefire will begin at 11 o’clock on the morning of the 11th of November.”

Anna reached across the table to take Jane’s hands. The ceasefire had come far too late for the other maid, but in both of their minds was the idea that for other women, it had come just in time.

Mrs. Patmore asked, “Why can’t it begin now?”

“The eleventh of the eleventh, seems pretty tidy to me,” Thomas muttered under his breath. Anna wondered if he wished he could have still been out there, alongside the other men. Knowing Thomas, likely not … but you could never tell what might touch someone.

“We’ll mark the moment in the Great Hall, and I expect all of you, including the kitchen staff and hall boys, everyone, to be there.”

He left the room after a quick chat with Carson, and the rest of them celebrated, too excited even to finish their meals. Anna felt a new resolve—the Great War was over, but hers was still being fought, and she was determined to win.


	119. To Watch Him Suffer

_November 1918_

He stood in front of the door, that familiar door. His breathing was constricted, and he could feel angry colour in his face already, before he had even seen her. Before he could work up the courage to knock, the door opened abruptly in front of him. Her eyes were glittering in ugly triumph.

“Come in, Jack. Don’t just stand on the doorstep—folks’ll think you don’t want to see me.” She sneered at him, her mouth twisting, and he pushed past her, not noticing the beads of sweat on her face or her pale skin.

“What is it you want, Vera? Why won’t you just let it go?” he asked, before the door even closed.

“Calm down, calm down,” she said, moving about with an air as though she was completely mistress of the situation. Which she was, he thought with an inward groan. “Plenty of time to get to all that. In the meantime, what about a nice quiet drink?”

“You know I don’t drink any more.”

“Right. What a stick in the mud you are these days, Jack.” She downed a glass of what looked like straight gin in a single swallow, wincing as it burned her throat.

“Look,” Bates said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You have me where you want me. I am desperate—I am begging you. Let me have the divorce. Tell me what I can do, what you want, and whatever it is, I’ll get it for you.”

“Will you?” Vera looked at him over the rim of the glass, her eyes calculating, and a cold chill ran down his spine. Whatever the price, it was more than he would be willing to pay, as he had suspected it might be. But he had to try. He held himself still, waiting.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Hours later, Vera closed the door behind him, having thrown his hat out the door after him. She leaned back against it, trying to control her breathing. The pain was sharp, again, despite all the laudanum she’d taken to dull it, and the gin she’d chased it with. But her revenge was complete; he would always remember the price he had paid for a divorce he would never get. She let her lips curl away from her teeth in a wolfish grin. Yes, by the time he knew what had hit him, he’d have nothing left to do but sit and await his hanging.

Blinking against the fog of pain, she reviewed the evidence she would plant, and the evidence against herself that she would carefully destroy. It had to look good; she would only get one go at this. It was only a shame she wouldn’t be able to watch him suffer—Jack had always suffered so beautifully. Some might say she could look down at him from Heaven; others that she could look up at him from Hell. Vera hoped not, in either case. She’d rather just go into the blackness where there wasn’t any more pain.

She winced, panting with the pain, thinking that wasn’t true, either. She didn’t want oblivion—she wanted her life. Gin and pies and clothes and men and bawdy songs and the satisfaction that came from outwitting someone as smart as John Bates … that was what she wanted. And that was just what she couldn’t have. So she would take the other, on her own terms, rather than go out as some poor wretch in soaked bedclothes sucking broth out of a spoon in the hands of some pious do-gooder. And she would take him with her, as the last thing she would ever do.

“’from Hell’s heart I stab at thee … for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee,’” she whispered, laughing a bit until it turned into a spasm of painful coughing. Vera had never been much of a reader, but she’d found a copy of _Moby-Dick_ once in a bundle of things she’d liberated from a young man with more lust than was good for him, and she’d found something compelling in Captain Ahab, something akin to herself.

Murmuring the lines over and over again, humming them occasionally, sometimes spitting them in venomous rage, she went about the final pieces of her plan.


	120. The Strength She Needed

_November 1918_

As Anna hung her apron up, she caught the word “Bates” in Miss O’Brien’s chatter. The lady’s maid was saying, “He left here at dawn with a face like thunder. I wonder if she knows what she’s started.”

Thomas muttered around his cigarette, “If I were you I’d keep out of it.”

“Wise words,” Anna snapped, taking her seat. As if neither of them had anything better to do, she thought indignantly, but underneath she was positively burning with anxiety. Mr. Bates wasn’t likely to be back until tomorrow, and she didn’t know how she would last without knowing what had happened between him and his wife. She knew Vera would never see reason, but she couldn’t help hoping that just maybe … this time …

Jane had come in behind Anna and took her seat next to Mrs. Patmore, who asked, “How did you get on?”, which forestalled any further comment from Thomas or Miss O’Brien, for now at least.

“It was interesting,” Jane said. Turning to Daisy, she added earnestly, “Daisy, I wish you’d let me tell you about it.”

“There’s no point,” Daisy answered.

Miss O’Brien put down her teacup. “No point in what?” she asked sharply, for all the world as though it were her own business. Anna frowned, finding relief from her tension in being angry at Miss O’Brien for being who she had always been.

“Jane keeps makin’ out I’m a war widow, but I’m not, am I?” Daisy looked at all of them, and it was hard to ignore the black armband over her pink dress. “You all know that. I married William on his deathbed; that don’t count.”

Anna couldn’t help thinking of Mr. Bates. She’d marry him on his deathbed, if that was all she could have, and it would count. Every single breath would count. “’Course it counts,” she said to Daisy.

“I don’t think so.” Daisy fidgeted with the ties to her apron. “And I wasn’t good to him. He thought I loved him … but I didn’t. Not like he loved me.” They were all silent, keeping their own thoughts. Poor Daisy went bravely on, saying the words they all knew were in her bruised and ashamed heart. “I should never have married him in the first place, only he—“

“Marrying him was a great kindness,” Mrs. Hughes said firmly, interrupting the nervous flow of Daisy’s thoughts.

“No, it wasn’t kind,” Daisy said, tears rising in her voice. “It was wrong!”

She turned to hurry out, running into Mr. Bates, who had come in unnoticed behind her. Anna forgot about Daisy immediately, to her later shame, in trying to catch Mr. Bates’s eye. As soon as she could look him in the eye, she would know, but he didn’t look at her, not at first.

“Mr. Bates!” Mrs. Hughes said. “How did you get here?”

“I walked from the station.”

Anna got up, sure now that whatever had happened, it was bad, and they would need privacy for her to get the full story.

Mr. Carson was saying, “Well, you should have said. We’d have sent someone to meet you!”

If she could have stopped to think of anything else, she would have blessed Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes for caring about Mr. Bates and wanting to take care of him, but she couldn’t stop to think.

“I was glad of the walk,” Mr. Bates said. “I was glad of the air.” He still wasn’t looking at her. Anna walked past him, feeling him turn to follow her into the hallway. She dug down, looking for some strength from somewhere, but she didn’t know if she had any. It had been such a long time and they had already fought so hard.

“I never thought you’d be back tonight,” she said softly. “How was it?” Only then did he turn to look her fully in the face, and she saw the ugly scratch on his cheekbone. Her heart sank. If it had come to blows …

To give him credit, he didn’t try to stall, or sugarcoat it. “Worse than you can possibly imagine.”

Anna lifted her hand to touch the mark on his face, but it was only partly out of solicitude toward him. She needed to touch him, to reassure herself of his solid, real presence there in front of her.

Mr. Bates raised his own hand, catching her wrist and pulling her arm away before she could touch the scratch, as though he were ashamed to have her touch it. Something cold and icy formed in the pit of her stomach. How bad could it have been, that he wouldn’t speak of it, even to her? Especially to her? For a long moment, they looked into each other’s eyes, and she saw darkness there, as deep as it had ever been, and she was afraid. When he turned to walk away, she let him go. For a moment, she considered fleeing, to be alone somewhere with the terrible fear that gripped her, but she could feel eyes on her back—Miss O’Brien’s eyes—and for once she blessed her antagonist, because refusing to give Miss O’Brien the satisfaction gave her the strength she needed.

Anna returned to the servants’ hall, giving empty assurances to those who asked and bold stares to those who didn’t ask.


	121. Alone with Her Thoughts

_November 1918_

Anna could hardly wait to go to bed that night, to be alone with her thoughts. She was too tired, too worn and spent, to even bother to get undressed. Sinking down on the edge of the bed, she put her face in her hands, trying to hold back the tears, but she could as easily have stopped the rain from falling. She muffled her sobs in her apron, not wanting anyone to hear her weeping.

“Worse than you can possibly imagine,” he’d said. Apparently Mr. Bates didn’t know how vivid her imagination was. In her mind’s eye, she could see him shouting at Vera, raising a fist to strike her, Vera lashing back at him with clawed fingers. Was that how it had gone, anger and violence? She knew, from comments here and there, that the relationship between Mr. Bates and Vera had not been without physical displays of anger, on both sides. Had it come to fruition today? Had he beaten her beyond recovery?

“No! Don’t be silly,” Anna said aloud, angry at herself for the unworthy thought. Besides which, she would have known. She was absolutely sure that if he had harmed Vera in any significant way, she would have read it on his face and in his eyes. He could never hide anything from her in his eyes, and he had held her gaze unflinchingly. Hopelessly, yes, but unflinchingly.

So if it wasn’t that, what could it have been? Perhaps, whispered an evil little voice in the back of her mind, Vera had made him pay a different price for attempting to find happiness elsewhere. Maybe Vera had reminded him of everything they had been to each other. Maybe … Anna wanted to run from the thought, but it wouldn’t go away … maybe Vera had forced him to take her to bed. Or, worse—Anna closed her eyes, then opened them again to banish the images—worse, maybe Vera hadn’t had to force him. After all, it had been a very long time for him, and men were supposed to need such things regularly.

Bitterness rose in Anna like bile. He had spurned her advances over and over, only to give in to his wife? What did she have that Anna didn’t? Whatever it was, Anna was sure she didn’t want to know. She clenched her teeth against a moan of despair, wondering if “worse than you can possibly imagine” meant he was going back to his wife. That was surely the worst thing Anna could imagine.

“Get hold of yourself!” Anna snapped at herself. There was no need to leap to conclusions that way—he had said no to Vera’s attempts to coax him back into bed over and over. There was no reason to assume he hadn’t said no this time.

Then what could have happened? What could have been so bad that he didn’t even want Anna to touch him, that his eyes had been so bleak? Or maybe it didn’t matter. The result of the meeting between him and his wife was that he had lost; Vera had the upper hand and she would keep it, and there would be no freedom for Mr. Bates. That was bad enough, Anna told herself. Plenty bad enough. There was no reason to torture herself by imagining how things had gone to end up so terribly. Instead, it was time to consider how she was going to handle things, because one way or another, she was going to be with Mr. Bates. Nothing, not even his wife, was going to stop her.

Straightening her back, Anna got up and went about the business of getting herself ready for bed. She would think, she decided, and she would find some way either to make Vera give him up or to convince Mr. Bates that they should go away together, somewhere that no one knew who they were.

As she blew out the candle, images of Mr. Bates and his wife tried to crowd her mind, and she pushed them away firmly, thinking instead of her own future with him, and painting her own pictures over the others.


	122. The End of a Long War

_November 11, 1918_

Bates lined up next to Anna, along with all the other servants and the family and all the convalescent soldiers. Despite the lingering upset of the disastrous meeting with Vera, he shared in the general feeling of relief that another war had come to an end, although he couldn’t share in the idea of it being the “war to end all wars.” People would continue to fight, and to attack each other with whatever they had. It was in their nature.

He glanced at Anna, so serious and earnest. She had no idea what war was really like, even though she tried to imagine it. This was one of the rare moments when the gap between their ages and experiences seemed large and meaningful, because he remembered war, saw it vividly in his dreams at night, carried its shrapnel with him both physically and mentally. His eyes scanned the row of wounded soldiers, wondering where life would take them when they were as far from their war as he was from his. He hoped they had better luck than to fall into the clutches of a Vera; hoped that they would instead find themselves an Anna, strong and steadfast.

Robert stepped forward, in his uniform. For the moment, lost in his memories of the war, Bates thought of his old friend as just that—a comrade in arms, a fellow sufferer of the torment of mosquitoes and heat and lack of water and the hell of combat. They had seen each other through, and here they were today, still doing so.

His thoughts were cut short by Robert speaking. “I think, while the clock strikes, we should all make a silent prayer to mark the finish of this terrible war, and what that means for each and every one of us. Let us remember the sacrifices that have been made, and the men who will never come back, and give them our thanks.” He glanced at Bates, their eyes meeting briefly, the memories passing between them of the lads they had fought with, the ones who had fallen. Brave boys, every one of them, and lost too soon.

As the clock struck, Bates’s gaze traveled down the rank of the convalescent soldiers again. He felt a pride in his country, and in his uniform, and in these fine young men who stood so stalwartly, accepting the sacrifice they had made for their native land. He had repined, he admitted it, as he limped his way through life, and surely these boys would as well, but still, deep inside, there was a comfort in knowing you had given of yourself for your home and your people. And a sacred trust to carry on in the place of those who had laid down their lives. He hadn’t always been worthy of that trust, he freely admitted that, but in this moment, with the steady chime of the clock marking the end of yet another war, he renewed his vow not to take his life for granted, to make the most of the time he had been given, and not to forget those who had died fighting alongside him and the legacy they left behind.

The clock’s final chime hung in the air for a long moment, or so it seemed, and then Robert stirred himself, looking around at the assembled company. “Thank you, everyone.” He started to turn away, then turned back and said, “Remember, this is not just the end of a long war, but it is the dawn of a new age. God bless you all.”

Bates turned to Anna, grasping her hand for a moment. ‘The dawn of a new age’. Let it be so, he pleaded silently to whatever good spirit might be listening.


	123. Telegram

_November 1918_

There was a festive spirit in the servants’ hall—for once, something had brought them all together that everyone could agree on. Even Thomas was cheerful, glad to see the war behind them. Anna couldn’t stop smiling; the end of the war made even the hopelessness of Mr. Bates’s unending marriage seem like something they could surmount.

Mr. Carson came in, reaching across the table. “Mr. Bates? Telegram for you.”

Mr. Bates stood, reaching for the folded paper, and Anna felt an icy dread steal over her. Whatever was in that telegram, it seemed highly unlikely to be anything good. She watched him, with Thomas peering with cheeky curiosity over her shoulder, as he unfolded the paper and read the words it contained.

His face went still and cold as stone, making the partially healed scratch near his eye stand out. He looked up, his eyes dark and somehow distant. Then he glanced at her, but was unable to hold her gaze. Without a word, he thrust the paper into her hand and got up, leaving the room as fast as he could.

Afraid to look, Anna opened the telegram in front of her. The words leaped off the page at her.

“What was that about?” Thomas asked.

She didn’t know at first whether to say, but they would know soon enough. “His wife’s dead,” she said simply. Into the silence that followed her words, she added, “Someone found her early this morning.” There was nothing more to say, at least, not to them. Holding the paper tightly in her hand, she hurried after Mr. Bates, finding him outside. He was standing staring off into space, and he didn’t move as she came toward him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Mr. Bates turned to look at her, but he didn’t seem to understand the question.

“I mean,” she faltered, “you were married, and now, she … She’s …” It was ridiculous that, after all this time and all the agony he had gone through with Vera, she should still feel jealous, or even insecure, but she did. Vera had been there first, knowing all the joys Anna so longed to savour, and if Anna couldn’t forget that fact, surely Mr. Bates couldn’t either.

No,” he said savagely, understanding her now. “I feel no sense of loss. Vera’s was a life poorly lived, misspent in many ways. If there was mourning to be done, it would be for the woman she might have been, and that woman was long gone years ago. No,” he repeated, looking up at the sky. “The only thing that makes me sad today is that now it will be that much longer you have to wait for me. God knows why you do,” he muttered under his breath.

Anna was tired of that particular conversation, and she was startled and a bit irritated by his assumption that Vera’s death meant further delay for them. “I don’t see why we have to wait now,” she said. “You are no longer married; there is no obstacle left to stand in your way.”

“I’ve been in the midst of acrimonious divorce proceedings for years, Anna, and now my wife is dead. What would it look like if I rushed to the altar with another woman?”

“It would look like happiness!” she snapped.

He looked wearied. “Exactly. And that is something we can’t afford to show right now. In time … when Vera’s inquest has passed and there are further details uncovered as to how this happened … then we can talk about the future. But for now—I’m not sure I see one.”

Anna clenched her jaw to keep from snapping at him again; this had to be hard for him. “I—had best get back to work,” she said instead. “No doubt you’ll want this.” She was unable to stop herself from crumpling up the telegram, still in her hand, and throwing it at his feet. As she hurried inside, it took all her self-control to stifle the tears. Would there never be an end to it all?


	124. My Dreams Are Wearing Thin

_November 1918_

Restless and uncomfortable, Bates left his room, limping down the hall as quietly as he could manage. It was silent here on the top floor, everyone else deep in slumber, but he couldn’t find sleep tonight. He kept picturing Vera’s face in his mind. The telegram hadn’t said how she died, except that it appeared to have been by her own hand—he assumed he would hear from his lawyers tomorrow with more information, but for now he couldn’t help seeing all the possibilities in vivid colour.

What had led her to do it? Of everyone he knew, Vera would have been the last person he ever expected to take her own life. She loved living; took great joy out of every gulping, greedy bite. And she had won her victory—she had him backed into a corner, with no further recourse to make her grant the divorce. Surely she would have wanted to gloat a while longer. Or had it been that last interview? Had she been so thoroughly convinced at last that he wasn’t coming back to her, would never come back to her, that she saw no further reason to live? Bates had a hard time seeing himself as a man who could command such a depth of emotion from a woman like Vera.

He couldn’t help but mourn the lost chances. She had been a woman of great intelligence, who could have made something of herself quite easily had she ever put her head down and made the effort. But she hadn’t, and now she was gone. There was part of Bates that wanted to weep for her.

But there was another part that felt only great anger, because in death she had snatched from him any chance of being with Anna, at least, not for quite some time yet. After all this time of fighting Vera, to marry after she had taken her own life would be incredibly poor taste. He felt despair—he knew Anna hadn’t understood, but surely she would come around to seeing it his way, eventually.

The thought stilled in his mind as he descended the last steps and saw her there, head in her hands, sitting at the table in the servants’ hall. A single candle flickered in front of her, no doubt the one she had brought down from her own room. It was too early yet for even the kitchen girls to be awake; he had rarely seen the room in such shadowed darkness.

Anna must have heard him coming; how could she not? The cane made such a racket. She looked up.

“Hello,” he said gently.

“Hello.”

They were silent for a moment. Bates couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t be inflammatory, or awkward, or just stupid.

“I know what you said earlier,” Anna said, “and I was sitting here thinking how I could bear it, waiting and waiting and waiting, and … and I don’t know if I can.”

Bates held his tongue. It nearly broke his heart to hear the strain in her voice, and he was afraid that she meant she was ending things between them, and he didn’t know how he could bear that.

Anna got to her feet, moving closer to him in the dim light. “I lie in bed at night and dream of what it would be like to be married to you,” she said, her voice husky. “I’ve been doing that for six years. Six years,” she repeated. “And my dreams are wearing thin, and time is passing, and everyone around me is changing, and I am still the same.” 

She was very close to him now, taking the candle from his hand and putting it down on the steps behind him. Catching his hand between both of hers, she drew it to her face, nuzzling her cheek against it. Instinctively, he turned his hand so he was caressing her fair skin, his thumb grazing the edge of her lips. Anna closed her eyes, leaning into the touch.

“I understand,” she said, her voice such a soft whisper that he had to lean closer to hear her. “I admire you for your uprightness and your honesty and your gallant attempts to protect my reputation, but I— Just once, I want more than dreams.” She drew his hand, still held between both of hers, down over her chin and throat and then further down to the soft, firm mounds of her breasts. He couldn’t help himself, his hand moving to cup her, warm even through the layers of her nightgown and robe, and as firm and rounded as he had always imagined. Anna was trembling. “Please,” she whispered, the sound just a breath.

How could he deny her? He wasn’t even sure he had the strength to take his hand away; after all, Anna wasn’t the only one who had dreamed of this. He massaged her breast, feeling the pleasure he was giving her as if it was his own, watching in fascination as her head fell back and her mouth opened slightly. He put his other arm around her waist, pulling her against him, and bent his head further to kiss her. They were slow, hungry kisses, as he tasted every corner of her mouth, feeling her urgent response against him. Impatiently he pushed the edge of the robe away, feeling her breast through the tantalizingly thin layer of her nightgown.

Anna’s hips were moving restlessly against him, her hands clinging to his arms as if she lacked the strength to hold herself up, and Bates felt a powerful pride that he was strong enough to hold her, that he was giving her this pleasure. God, how he wanted her.

But … not like this. Not in the chilly darkness of the servants’ hall, where any minute now one of the kitchen girls could come upon them. With a groan drawn from the very depths of him, he managed to disentangle himself, pushing her gently back. “Anna, no.”

She blinked at him, her eyes gradually focusing on his face. “Of course,” she said in a low voice. He was unable to hear her tone. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bates, you’re quite right.” Straightening her nightgown, she picked up his candle from the steps behind him and slowly made her way back upstairs, leaving Bates to limp to the table and take the place she had so recently vacated. Heart and body in turmoil, he sat there until Downton began to wake around him.


	125. Thinking Aloud

_November 1918_

Lord Grantham seemed distracted as Bates got him dressed. The soldiers leaving and putting Downton back the way it used to be had everyone a bit flustered, but this seemed something more. In an attempt to bring him out, Bates said, “I nearly put out the new dinner jacket, my lord, but then Mr. Carson said the Dowager was dining here.” He offered a small smile at the thought of what the Dowager would say to the dinner jacket.

“Quite right,” his lordship responded, coming out of his fog. “Mustn’t frighten the horses.” He lordship turned around, holding his arms out for the sleeves. “By the way, her ladyship was asking if there was any more news about Mrs. Bates.”

No doubt she was. Bates was under no illusions as to his lack of popularity with her ladyship; he was sure she was just waiting for a chance to see him gone for good. But naturally he didn’t voice those thoughts, opting instead for a noncommittal “I don’t think so, my lord.” He didn’t want to think of Vera. It was too easy to picture her sprawled on the floor, dead, in all the various grotesque manners a poisoning death could create. He still found it hard to believe, Vera taking poison. She just wasn’t the type. “They’d like to know why she did it,” he said, “but I don’t suppose we ever shall.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. In truth, all he wanted was to put it all behind him.

His lordship frowned, settling his cuffs. “You’d think she’d leave a note.”

“Perhaps it was a spur of the moment decision,” Bates offered. He didn’t think so—there had been something in her demeanour when he’d last seen her that teased at him, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Either way, Vera had rarely been a creature of impulse, not in large things.

And then his lordship said, “It can’t have been, can it? Wouldn’t she have to get hold of the stuff?” And Bates felt a spear of ice through his vitals. Because now he remembered the seemingly small errand he’d been sent on, all that long time ago. She couldn’t have been planning even then … could she?

When he didn’t respond, his lordship added, “Please forgive me. I was … thinking aloud. We’ll drop the subject.”

Bates finished his duties in a fog of his own; he had to think this through, to determine whether what he thought he remembered was what he did remember. But it was inescapable … he had been relieved to have an excuse to escape the house, only too willing to believe in rats he himself had never seen in order to have something to talk about, some way to while away the long, long time away from Anna. When Vera had suggested it, he bought the rat poison. And Vera kept it. And now how would that look, if the police went looking to see where she had gotten it? It had been well over a year ago; almost two, he thought. Surely no one would remember him after such a long time. But then, he’d had to sign his name in the book to buy the poison, and he’d gone to the nearest shop; no reason not to.

He clenched his teeth against a moan as he realized that any chance of marrying Anna was slipping further and further away—he couldn’t possibly think of doing so now until the inquiry into Vera’s death had been settled, and the wheels of justice ground exceedingly slow.


	126. A Favour

Anna was walking down the hall with a discarded dress to be mended when she heard a voice call her name from one of the rooms. Turning in surprise, she found Sir Richard Carlisle stepping out of his room, his eyes fixed on her. “It is Anna, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to ask a favour of you.”

“Of me, Sir Richard?” She couldn’t imagine what he could want from her, but she hoped it wasn’t to sneak him into Lady Mary’s room or anything sordid like that.

“You. I’ve been waiting for you. I wonder if you could step into my room for a moment.” Sir Richard was already turning inside the room as he spoke, so certain that she would follow him in.

Anna tried to protest—it didn’t seem right, her alone in his room, and she wasn’t so sure of him that she felt particularly enthusiastic about being alone with him in the first place, but he was a guest, and Lady Mary’s intended, and there was little she could do. She looked around the hall, hoping there was someone else around, but seeing no one, she followed him inside.

Sir Richard closed the door behind her, and she stood stiffly, poised to make a quick exit at the first possible moment.

“You attend Lady Mary and her sisters, don’t you? In addition to your other duties.”

“I do, sir, yes.”

“You must be kept very busy. I hope it’s worth your while.” He smiled a little at that, as if they were equals somehow. Anna found it all intensely uncomfortable, and had nothing to say to his remark. Was he asking how much the Granthams paid her? “Because I would be very willing to increase your stipend,” he continued.

There was some relief in that—it seemed that the only thing he wanted was to secure her services at Haxby Park. “If this is about coming with Lady Mary, when you marry, it’s very good of you, sir, but, you see, my fiance, Mr. Bates, works here and I don’t think that I—“

Sir Richard cut her off, thankfully, because she seemed powerless to stop herself from babbling. “It’s not that, although it’s a pity. Lady Mary’s very fond of you.”

As if Anna didn’t already know that! But Sir Richard was a bachelor; perhaps he didn’t know the type of bond that could form between a lady and her maid, especially when they had more or less become women together, as Anna and Lady Mary had. But she said only, “That’s kind,” not wanting to encourage this tete-a-tete any further.

“You see,” he said, looking almost, but not quite, nervous, “I’m anxious to make Lady Mary happy.”

It was the first thing he’d said that made sense, and Anna smiled a little as she said, “Of course you are, sir.”

All semblance of nervousness fell away from him at once. He smiled, as well, saying, “And to that end, I feel that I need to know a great deal more about her than I do. Our customs are so strange in this country—a couple is hardly allowed a moment alone together before they walk down the aisle.”

Well, Anna certainly didn’t need him to tell her that. She knew all too well how hard it was to find any time alone. But she wasn’t about to endanger Lady Mary’s honour by facilitating a clandestine meeting. “I’m not sure I understand, sir,” she said. If he’d come out in the open about it, she could say no and they could both get on about their business.

He lowered his voice, coming closer, and Anna’s skin crawled. “I’d like to know more about her interests. Where she goes; whom she sees. What she says to them.”

For a rare moment, Anna wished she were a lady of quality, his equal, so she could slap his face. How dare he ask her to spy for him! “Excuse me, sir,” she said, coldly polite, “do you mean you want me to give you a report of Lady Mary’s actions?”

“It’ll be extra work, but I’m happy to pay.”

She maintained her calm only due to years of experience, but she wasn’t certain she had successfully kept the disgust off her face. “I’m sure.” She studied him for a moment, trying to find a way out of the conversation that wouldn’t insult him into demanding that she be fired. “But … I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the time. Thank you, sir.”

“That’s your choice,” he said.

Anna turned toward the door in relief, stopping with her hand on the knob as Sir Richard spoke again.

“I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention this to Lady Mary. I wouldn’t want her to think I was checking up on her.”

Wouldn’t he? Anna couldn’t bring herself to respond to that; she let herself out of the room. The air in the hallway felt fresh and cool on her cheeks as she walked away, wondering what to do next. Should she keep it to herself? But Lady Mary oughtn’t to marry a man like that—perhaps she should tell Lady Mary. But what if Lady Mary didn’t believe her?

Her thoughts in a turmoil, she continued down the hall.


	127. Lady Mary's Activities

_November 1918_

Anna stewed on Sir Richard’s boorish, insulting attempt to make her into some kind of sneak, carrying tales on Lady Mary, through dinner, unable to decide what was best to do. She considered speaking of it to Mr. Bates, but he had his own troubles, still distracted over Vera’s death—and, truth be told, a bit miffed with Anna over her reaction. Perhaps he was right, she thought—perhaps she should have shown more patience. But for heaven’s sake, six years! When was it to end? Just thinking of it got her steamed up again.

At last she decided the best person to talk to about Sir Richard’s offer was Mrs. Hughes. The housekeeper so often knew what was best to do; she had experienced a great deal of the foibles people were capable of in her career. Accordingly, Anna went to the door of Mr. Carson’s office. Anna had been of two minds as to whether to wait to catch Mrs. Hughes alone or not—Mr. Carson being Lady Mary’s most stalwart partisan, Anna didn’t want to upset him unduly. But there was nothing for it—Anna couldn’t let the situation sit, not and be at peace with herself, and after all, Mr. Carson deserved to know what was going on as well.

“There you are, Mrs. Hughes,” she said. “They said you were in here. Might I have a word?”

“Of course,” the housekeeper said. “Shall we go to my room?” She put down her teacup and saucer, preparing to rise from her chair.

“There’s no reason Mr. Carson shouldn’t hear it. In fact, I think he probably should. You see, I’ve had a request from Sir Richard that you ought to know about.”

“Come in, Anna,” Mr. Carson said gruffly.

She shut the door behind her.

“What request has Sir Richard been making of you?” Mrs. Hughes asked.

“He wanted me to—to tell him about Lady Mary’s activities.”

“So he could get to know her better?” Mr. Carson asked. Mrs. Hughes shot him a look.

“That’s how he phrased it, yes, Mr. Carson, but what he really wanted—once he explained—was to pay me to give him a report on who Lady Mary spoke to, and what she said to them, and where she went.”

Mrs. Hughes pressed her lips together in anger. “He never did!”

“Oh, yes. I told him—well, I didn’t want to cause trouble for Lady Mary, so I told him I didn’t think I would have the time. He asked me not to tell her what he had asked … so I came to you, instead.”

“Quite right,” Mrs. Hughes said, when it became clear that Mr. Carson’s outraged feelings weren’t going to let him respond just yet. “I’m proud of you, Anna. I think I’d have wanted to slap his face.”

“I did think of it,” Anna admitted, glad to have the support of these two wise people in such a quandary. “I imagine Lady Mary will be put out that I didn’t tell her, but …” She thought of Mr. Matthew, and Lady Mary’s brave attempt to move on despite what Anna knew was her still very deep love for him. “I think she’s been through quite enough.”

“Exactly so,” Mr. Carson said, finally mastering himself enough to speak calmly. He got to his feet. “You did well, Anna. Thank you for coming to me—to us—with this. I will take care of it from here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Carson.” Anna hesitated a moment, but it seemed as though the butler and housekeeper were waiting for her to leave so they could talk things over on their own, so she left them there. She felt lighter as she walked down the hall, relieved that she’d been able to share the situation with those above her, but something unquiet in her heart said she should have brought it to Lady Mary instead.


	128. If I Can't Trust You

_November 1918_

Lady Mary was silent through most of the dressing. Anna knew Mr. Carson had relayed Sir Richard's offer, and she felt guilty enough that she had gone to the butler and the housekeeper rather than Lady Mary herself that she couldn't protest the coldness.

It wasn't until Lady Mary was standing at the mirror, putting on her jewelry, that she broke her silence, saying explosively, “I still don't see why you didn't tell me first,” as if they were halfway through the argument. They understood each other well enough that Anna could follow all the arguments Lady Mary had already been through.

She glanced down at the floor guiltily. “I'm sorry, my lady, but I didn't want to add to your troubles.” She'd had an obligation to be honest with Lady Mary, after everything they had been through. In the back of her mind, admittedly, had been the thought that if Lady Mary knew what Sir Richard was willing to stoop to she might break off the engagement, and then where would she land? Especially with Mr. Matthew's nuptials coming up in just a few months.

“Well, you have done, whether you wanted to or not.”

Anna nodded. There was no arguing with that. “I am sorry.”

“I know you are,” Lady Mary said, sighing. “But, Anna ...” She looked at Anna for a long moment, as if deciding what to say and whether to say it at all. “If I can't trust you, who can I trust?” she said at last.

“I ... understand. It won't happen again.”

“Good.”


	129. Asking for Trouble

_November 1918_

Bates had been stewing over Lord Grantham's words about Vera for a full day, and his heart sank further with each passing moment. The vague disquiet he had felt since Vera's death had solidified into a very real fear. And now he had to tell Anna—it wasn't fair to leave her in the dark about something that had the potential to alter their situation so materially. At the very least, it made the reason for delay far more urgent than it had been before.

In the aftermath of the family's distraction over Mr. Matthew's miraculous news, and the subsequent delay of dinner, Anna caught him in the hall. He had been avoiding her all day, waiting for the right moment later, but—well, the moment was here, and he would have to deal with it.

“There you are,” she said, smiling at him. “I wondered what happened to you. It's wonderful news, isn't it?”

“Wonderful.” He forced the next words out before his cowardice could conquer his honesty. “Are you busy?”

“I'm just going up to help in the dining room. Why?”

He grasped at the excuse for delay. “It'll keep.”

Of course Anna, being Anna, was too direct for that, and knew him too well to let him get by. “No. Tell me. I've got time.”

He couldn't look her in the eye. “It's just ... something his lordship said recently I can't get out of my mind. How Vera must have—“ Bates looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Bought the poison, and taken it home with her.”

Anna, still not guessing where this was leading, seemed impatient with the line of thought. She seemed to want to forget Vera had ever existed, and while Bates understood and sympathized with her feelings, he couldn't put his former wife aside quite so easily, especially not when her death seemed so likely to affect the rest of his life. “Yes,” Anna said, looking away with displeasure in her face. “I suppose she must've, and that's ... a terrible thing to think of—“

Bates cut into her words. “But she didn't. I did.”

That Anna had clearly not been expecting. She stared at him. “What?”

“Months ago, before I left, Vera said that we needed rat poison, and I bought it. It was arsenic, and I've been thinking, that's what she must have taken.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Have you told the police?”

“No.”

“Tell them. If you don't, and they find out, it'll look bad,” she said, in all her innocent trust in the system.

“But wouldn't I be asking for trouble?” Bates knew the system—he had been there—and he believed that whether he said or didn't say mattered very little in the end.

“You're asking for trouble if you stay silent,” Anna said. He could see the pain in her eyes now, the fear, and he hated that he had brought this to her again, just when she was thinking there might be a reward ahead for all her patience and suffering.

Just then Mr. Carson came down the stairs. “Anna? We're starting.”

“Sorry, Mr. Carson.” She gave Bates a look that said they weren't done with the subject and hurried off to serve, while Bates was left to contemplate the further wreck of all his hopes.


	130. That Life with Her

_November 1918_

Ethel's child had been wailing miserably by the time she reached the servants' dining hall, and by Ethel's white, shocked face it was clear she didn't know what to do, not even to calm him. Anna took the baby deftly from her arms, rocking him and bouncing him and shushing him as though she did it every day, while Ethel took a seat, burying her head in her hands and taking long, shuddering breaths to try to calm herself.

Bates sat across the table from Anna, trying to pay attention to Ethel and her plight, but all he could see was Anna with the baby on her shoulder.

What year was it? he thought. 1918? If it hadn't been for his damnable marriage and everything that had come with it, they could have been married long ago now, with a child of their own. He imagined for a moment, a dizzyingly perfect moment, that it was their child chewing on Anna's shoulder. A boy? A girl? Either, really, as long as it was hers.

Ethel, calmer now, said resolutely, “If that's what he's like, I don't want his help. I don't want it.”

“I doubt you'll have the option,” O'Brien said. “You're a dark horse. How did you keep it a secret all this time?”

The baby nibbled on his own finger, and Anna bounced him gently. Bates thought about what she might look like rounded and full with his child, and the thought nearly took his breath away.

“Maybe when he's thought about it, he'll feel differently,” Anna offered. “You never know.”

Mr. Carson came in at that point, his face like thunder. Bates wouldn't want to be Ethel right now, although he knew there was a deeply emotional streak in the butler that would be pulling for kindness for Ethel rather than censure.

“Anna,” he snapped, “would you kindly go upstairs and help in the dining room?” Anna stood up, adjusting the baby on her shoulder so naturally that Bates almost reached for it as if it were his own. “Ethel,” Mr. Carson continued, “please take the child and leave. How did you get here?”

Taking the baby back from Anna, destroying Bates's momentary illusion, Ethel said, “I caught the 'bus and walked up from the village.”

“Then can you reverse the process? As quickly as possible.”

Bates felt this hardness stemmed from the less-impressive part of Mr. Carson's character, the part that put decorum and manners above the needs of people. This had most evidently been Ethel's only real chance for a life for her child that would not be impossibly hard; could any of them blame her for taking it? “She's very badly shaken, Mr. Carson. She's lost everything,” he said.

Anna hurried quickly from the room, on her way up to the dining room.

Mr. Carson turned to Ethel with dignity. “Are you all right for the fare?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said. And then she was gone.

The servants dispersed, leaving Bates alone in the room in something of a daze. He hadn't particularly considered children before, except in the abstract, not with Vera, and certainly not with Anna, the way things stood. There had been a moment, in those dizzy days of their first engagement, before Vera had taken him away, but those had passed so quickly.

Seeing Anna with that boy in her arms today—God, how he wanted that life with her. To make a baby first, oh, yes; but also to see it and feel it growing inside her, to sit beside her as it was born, to hold it and care for it, to watch the mother she would become. He put his face in his hands, wishing he believed in the power of prayer to bring things about that a person wanted so very much.

But he didn't, and for the moment, all avenues toward the future were closed. He reminded himself firmly of that fact, and left the room to find something to do that would occupy his mind.


	131. Out of the Grave

_November 1918_

Anna was startled when Mr. Bates pulled her aside in the midst of the dinner preparations. Usually he respected Mr. Carson's nerves more than to do anything that might disrupt service, so Anna couldn't imagine she was going to like what Mr. Bates had to say.

“What is it?” she asked when they were alone.

“I heard from my lawyer today,” he said in a low voice. “Apparently Vera wrote to a friend just before my last visit.”

“Why are they telling you now?”

“It was only delivered a few days ago.”

Anna shivered; it was as if Vera's hand was reaching out from the grave. She struggled to push the disturbing image aside in favour of practicality. “Do you know what the letter says?”

He reached into his jacket and took out an envelope. “They sent me a copy.”

Taking the envelope, Anna took out the paper, unfolding it, her eyes scanning it hastily. “'John has written that he is coming here tonight. His words sound as angry as I've ever heard him—and you know how angry that is.'” Someone walked by as she was reading, and Mr. Bates shifted his weight anxiously. “'I never thought I'd say this, but I'm afraid for my life.'” Anna frowned. The woman she'd met would never have been afraid. She looked up at Mr. Bates, who was as nervous as she'd ever seen him. “What did you write to her?”

The same young kitchen lad who had walked by before came down the hallway now, and Anna hastily folded the letter and put it away. When the boy had passed, Mr. Bates said, “I said I was coming that evening and I meant to have it out with her. I may have said she was being unreasonable, but so she was.”

Anna studied his face, his eyes. He had never been able to hide anything from her in those, and she could see that he was as truly bewildered by Vera's words as she was.

“Will it change anything?”

“Think about it!” he said in an urgent whisper. “Before Vera's death, she had taken all my money and she had wrecked the divorce. Now, as her widower, I inherit everything and we can marry whenever we like.”

As the full meaning of his words sank in, Mrs. Hughes came down the stairs, and they moved apart slightly.

“Anna, they're going in,” Mrs. Hughes said.

Nodding, Anna handed the envelope back to Mr. Bates.

As she moved past the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes said to Mr. Bates, “You look as if you've got the cares of the world on your shoulders.”

“Not the whole world, Mrs. Hughes, but quite enough of it,” Anna heard him reply before she got too far away to hear anything more.

Enough of it, indeed. Earlier she had imagined Vera's hand reaching out of the grave. Now she seemed to see it grasping hold of Mr. Bates by the heel and pulling him after her, and for all her practicality, Anna couldn't get that image out of her mind.


	132. To His Heart's Desire

_December 1918_

“Anna?” Lady Mary hurried toward her down the hall. “Anna, can you get Mrs. Hughes to give you the extra keys?”

“Of course.” Anna's confusion must have shown in her face—all Lady Mary had to do was ring for Mrs. Hughes, and the housekeeper would bring her the extra keys, after all—because her ladyship explained hastily.

“Sybil has locked herself in her room and won't come out. She says she's sick, but ... I just want to check, without alarming the rest of the house.”

“I see. Let me just get them; I won't be a minute.”

Anna came back with the keys as soon as she could, hurrying up the stairs. She wasn't entirely certain what Lady Mary was so concerned about, but the urgency in her ladyship's face and voice had been unmistakable.

Lady Sybil's room was empty, the bed perfectly made up. Lady Mary seemed to have some inkling of what she was searching for, and she found the note propped up on the mantel very quickly, ripping it open, her face stern and cold as she scanned the lines.

“Oh, my God, she's eloped. She's on her way to Gretna Green.”

Anna was torn by the news, because she knew how Branson had waited so patiently all this time, and she knew he was a good man and he loved Lady Sybil deeply. What she didn't know was if Lady Sybil loved him in return—enough to give up everything the way she would need to. And she knew all too well the reaction of the family to Lady Sybil throwing away all her chances to marry a chauffeur.

She clung to Lady Mary as her ladyship hastily changed clothes and got Lady Edith to come and drive the car on the hunt for the two runaways. Even as they drove, Anna wasn't certain if she hoped they would catch up with the two in time or not.

But when she saw the car along the road, she called out without thinking, feeling badly for Tom even as she did so. Perhaps it would all come right; perhaps Lady Sybil would stick to her guns, she thought ... or perhaps if she didn't, Tom would be spared more pain later down the road. Either way, it was probably best for both of them if they came back and did things in a more aboveboard manner, she told herself.

Anna stayed below while Lady Mary and Lady Edith went upstairs to face down Tom and Lady Sybil, and she was pleased to see that when the three ladies came down they were very calm. Tom had stayed behind, and Anna felt sorry for him.

But Lady Sybil was composed and determined and still sure of herself, and Anna was more impressed than she had thought she would be. And then, for a moment, she envied Tom with a bitter jealousy she'd never felt before.

Tom had won through to his heart's desire; would it ever be her turn?


	133. You Can't Deny Me That

_April 1919_

The months since Lady Sybil had been brought back from her attempted elopement had been long, stressful, and worrisome for Anna. Slowly it seemed as though a web was being drawn 'round Mr. Bates, a web that might well end in his being accused of having murdered his wife.

Not for a minute did Anna believe he was capable of such a thing—and if so, certainly not by poison—but what she believed would have little relevance if he were to be arrested. She was nothing in the eyes of the law; a woman he knew, only, not a relative.

Lady Sybil's announcement that she intended to marry Tom had shaken everyone, from the top of the house to the bottom. Anna admired their courage, although she admitted to some concerns about Lady Sybil's ability to survive in the real world outside of Downton. Still, that was Lady Sybil's worry, and Tom's, and Anna had enough troubles of her own.

In the midst of one of the oddest dinners in Downton history, with Mr. Molesley liberally sampling all the wines, and Lady Sybil bravely trying to pretend nothing was awry, Anna ran into Mr. Bates in the hallway. She really had no time to stop and talk, but the ideas on her mind had reached such a crescendo that she couldn't help but let them out.

“Oh, I'm glad I've caught you.”

“Aren't you serving?”

“They're on the main course, so I can spare a moment.” She really couldn't, but somehow for once she couldn't bring herself to put proper service above her own needs. She drew him into a side corridor for greater privacy. “I've been thinking, and, um—“ The words caught in her throat. But she'd gotten this far, and it needed saying. And the sooner the better. “I have to say something ... that you won't agree with.”

He looked at her with some surprise, as much as if to say that he couldn't think of what she could say that he wouldn't agree with, and it was so sweet that Anna had to steel herself to continue, imagining she knew what his response would be to her ... well, it was a proposal, wasn't it?

“We're going to get married.”

“Don't be silly,” he said softly. “We can't. Not now.”

“You're not listening.” She was deadly serious about this, and she held his gaze so that he would know how much. “You're going to Ripon tomorrow to take out a special license—I don't care how much it costs—and fix a day. We'll tell no one, but this you will do.”

“I can't!”

“Aren't I as strong as Lady Sybil?” she asked him. Stronger, really, because how long had it been? Seven years since they'd met. Seven years of loving and waiting and supporting. She had earned this, every moment of happiness they could possibly squeeze from the dark clouds above them.

“I don't doubt that.”

“Well, then. If she can do it, so can we.” He was silent, looking at her, and Anna went on. “That's what I've been thinking. I have stood by you through thick and thin.”

“Thin and thin, more like,” he said, his voice husky and a small smile crossing his face.

“Mr. Bates. If we have to face this, then we will face it as husband and wife.” Tears were threatening her, thinking of what might be to come, desperate to convince him, and she pushed through them. “I will not be moved to the sidelines to watch from a distance how you fare with no right even to be kept informed. I will be your next of kin. And you can't deny me that.”

There was a softness in his face now, a yielding, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her.

Then from behind her, Jane called, anxious and worried, and the moment was broken. With a last glance at Mr. Bates, Anna hurried off.


	134. Something He Could Do

_April 1919_

Bates stood and watched Anna hurry off, unable to do anything else. His legs wouldn't have moved if he'd asked them to. Marry her? He'd like nothing more. Marry her now? It would be unseemly haste, given Vera's death and the investigation into it that seemed to be centering ever more closely around himself.

But Anna, being Anna, had thought of that, too, and she was absolutely right that without marriage there would be no chance of her knowing what happened to him if he was arrested, no way for him to communicate with her.

He thought of her, so brave, fighting back tears as she demanded from him something he should have offered her long ago, something he should have been free to offer her. What did she want to marry him for? he thought bitterly. He had messed up his first marriage so badly; he had messed up his life so badly. He was no catch for anyone, particularly a woman like Anna.

But on the other hand, Anna had known him for who he was, for everything he was, for seven years, and she had never once faltered in her belief in him, never once turned her eyes in another direction or removed her quiet, stalwart support from his side, even when he had run and hidden from her in an attempt to placate Vera. Yes, Anna deserved this, at very long last, and so much more that was completely out of his power to offer her.

He closed his eyes, thinking of what it would be like, Anna as his wife, free to kiss her and touch her to his heart's content. How they would manage a proper wedding night, he didn't know, but somehow they would eventually and ... Bates caught himself before he could let that idea get going too thoroughly. He was still standing in a hallway in the middle of the bustling dinner service, after all.

For now ... for now he would focus on doing as Anna had asked. After everything she had done for him over the years, everything she had been ... this was finally something he could do for her. He only wished he had thought of it first.


	135. Long-Awaited Happiness

_April 1919_

Bates was waiting in the servants' hall when Anna came through.

“How are you doing?” he asked her, looking closely at her face for any signs of sickness, but her eyes were bright and clear, though wearied, as they all were, with so much extra to do.

“I'm not sure,” Anna said. “Her ladyship's worse.”

“I'm sorry.” He should go find Lord Grantham, Bates thought. His old friend would be beside himself with worry and with his inability to help or to resolve the situation.

“Jane said you wanted to see me.”

Bates couldn't help smiling, just a little. Even in a house full of sickness, this was joyous news he had to share with her—they had waited for it for far too long. “It's only to say that I've done it. I've booked the Registry.”

Anna's immediate smile and her almost disbelieving little laugh were all the reward he needed, if reward were required at all. “You can't deny me this,” she had said, and she had been right—how could he deny her anything? She already had all of him that he had to give. To add his name to that list, and with any luck his body ... he was the lucky one. He was only glad that she had had the forthrightness and the courage to force him to the decision, but now that she had, he could see that it had been the right one all along.

“When for?” Anna asked, her smile spreading and lighting the room.

“He's had a cancellation, so it's—“ He paused, looking at her, so very pleased to be able to give her good news for once. “It's Friday afternoon.”

“It's Friday ...” Anna said softly.

Just then there was a noise from the hallway, and they turned to see Ethel and her baby. Bates's first reaction was to wonder who would bring a small child into a house filled with the Spanish influenza. Then Jane came hurrying in to say the Bryants had returned, the parents of the man who had fathered Ethel's child, and all was explained.

Anna promised to find Mrs. Hughes, and she left the room with Jane, but not without a backward glance and a smile for Bates—a smile that said she shared his joy, and even in the midst of all the sickness and sorrow around them, there was room for this long-awaited happiness.


	136. Can You Keep a Secret?

_April 1919_

Anna was just finishing making the bed when Lady Mary came in. Her ladyship was clearly surprised to see Anna in the room, and not overly happy about it—she had that look she got on the rare occasions when her emotions were too much for her, and she hated to have people see her that way.

“I'm sorry, my lady,” Anna said. “I didn't think you'd want to change tonight.”

“I don't.” Lady Mary reached into a drawer. “I just need a handkerchief.” She dabbed gently at her face, where the tracks of tears were discernible.

“How's her ladyship?” Anna asked.

“Not good, I'm afraid.”

Anna couldn't help it; even in the face of so much illness and unhappiness, she couldn't stop herself from thinking how unfair it was that she should be happy. She should tell Mr. Bates to call off the marriage, put it back for another week or so until things should settle down and people begin recovering from this dreadful influenza. That's what she should do, she told herself stoutly, no matter how little she wanted to. What difference could a week make?

“What is it?” Lady Mary asked suddenly, stopping to look at Anna with concern.

She wanted to tell someone, to get someone's opinion that wasn't so close, and she was used to telling Lady Mary her secrets, but ... “I don't mean to bother you, my lady.” There was so much already on her ladyship's mind, she didn't need one more burden.

“Go on.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Lady Mary rolled her eyes, and Anna only just stopped herself from smiling at the foolishness of the question.

“Well ... I know you can. You see, Mr. Bates and I had a plan ...” She twisted her hands together. It was harder to say it out loud than she had expected it to be. “To get married, this coming Friday.”

“What?”

“He's worried that the police haven't finished with him, and, if he's right, then I'm not going through it with no proper place in his life.”

Lady Mary's surprised face softened. “Well, that's a very brave decision.”

“Or a very stupid one.” They exchanged a small smile of understanding. “But, anyway, with her ladyship ill now and half the servants on their backs and everybody working flat out—“

“Where is the marriage to be?” Lady Mary interrupted.

“Just in the registry office in Ripon. It wouldn't take long, but—“ Anna was so torn between her duty, which she had never shirked before, and her longing for this marriage. She had never wanted anything in her life as badly as she wanted to be married to Mr. Bates, whatever came, and in whatever form she had to accept.

“Go.” Lady Mary nodded. “I'll cover for you. We're all here, and you won't help Mama by changing your plans.”

The door opened, and Lady Edith appeared, looking distressed. “You've got to come. She's worse.”

Lady Mary rushed from the room without another word, leaving Anna still feeling torn, but determined as well, to salvage whatever of happiness she could from this wretched time.


	137. Measures of Comfort

_April 1919_

The house was in turmoil; the death of Miss Swire had stunned everyone. With so many still ill, the ordinary routines had been turned topsy-turvy, and now no one knew quite what to do with each formerly well-ordered minute.

Anna was glad to be sitting with Mr. Bates having a cup of tea, two measures of comfort in a world suddenly so uncertain. “I still can't believe it,” she said. “I mean, there was she was so young and pretty and packing her trousseau, and now we're laying out black for her funeral.” She had seen death before—Mr. Pamuk's eyes still haunted her—but this was ... she, too, was a bride-to-be, as confident in her future as Miss Swire had been.

Mr. Bates looked at her searchingly. “Are you saying you want to delay? It doesn't have to be tomorrow.”

Delay? How could he think such a thing? They had delayed and delayed and fought and lost and fought and lost again, how many times—did he think tomorrow's opportunity, the registry hall booked and everything, came with a snap of the fingers? “No!” she said emphatically. “No, I don't want to delay. Who knows, it might be me next.”

“Anna ...”

She smiled, reaching out to hold his hand. “And I'm having 'Mrs. Bates' on my tombstone, or I won't lie still in my grave.”

He smiled, too, his hand shifting to grip hers, and they both ignored the other Mrs. Bates who was certainly not lying still in her grave. “Good. Because I have dreamed of this too long to let the chance go now.”

“My sentiments exactly.”


	138. The Moment Fast Approaching

_April 1919_

Even in the midst of the mourning in the house, Anna couldn't imagine a more beautiful, happier day. Mr. Bates had left for the village as soon as he had Lord Grantham's things squared away; Anna had a slightly heavier load of tasks, but eventually Jane, who had been let into the secret because more work would fall to her while Anna was away, shooed her off.

“You don't want to be late to your own wedding,” Jane whispered. “Take your chance while you have it. You never know when—“ Her face fell, and she looked away. “I wish you joy,” she whispered hastily, and hurried on about her own work. She was on the last day of her notice, and Anna would miss her cheerfulness, her intelligence, her hard work, and her support.

But long before she reached the village, smartly dressed in her Sunday best, she had forgotten about Jane and thought only of the man waiting for her.

He came out of the flower shop near the bus station, holding a bouquet. With a courtly flourish, he bowed before her and presented it to her. “A woman can't be married without a bouquet. I'm certain I read that somewhere.”

“Mr. Bates! You needn't have. I could have done without.”

“God knows, you've done without enough for my sake. If only everything was as easy to rectify as buying you flowers.” They both looked up as the bus pulled into sight. “Are you ready? It's not too late to reconsider.”

“I've considered long enough. Too long. If I had to walk to Ripon, I would.”

He gave her a delighted smile. “You have no idea how happy I am.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Maybe you do at that,” Mr. Bates conceded.

He helped her into the bus, and they sat primly side by side, not touching, looking out the window at the passing countryside. Anna couldn't get over the sense that this must all be a dream—the beautiful day, the warmth of Mr. Bates's thigh near hers, the special license that crackled in his pocket, the sweet-smelling flowers in her hand.

“Do you know what I most look forward to?” he whispered to her, softly, so no one could overhear them.

“What?” It was safe to ask—there was no chance of a proper wedding night, at least, not immediately, and while Anna longed for that, to properly explore the physical side of marriage, she could wait for it if she had to.

“To have you call me John. At long last.”

She smiled, feeling her cheeks flush. Even that felt too intimate to consider right now. “I'm not sure I know how.”

“In that case, I can't wait to teach you.” His voice had dipped low and husky, and Anna was no longer sure that they were talking about calling him by his name. She could feel the heat his kisses built in her already rising, and hastily she looked away from him, out the window, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

The bus was pulling into Ripon now, the registry not far away, the moment fast approaching.

“Anna.”

“Yes, Mr. Bates?”

“I love you.”

She smiled, feeling the nerves that had begun to flutter in her stomach settle at the assurance in his voice. “I love you, too.”


	139. Husband and Wife Together

_April 1919_

Bates stood outside the registry, watching as Anna hurried toward him. She had asked him to go on ahead, to let her have a moment to collect herself. He understood; it was a momentous thing they were doing. For all that they had been moving so very slowly toward it for years, to know that it was just a moment away—it was overwhelming for him, too. 

But she was smiling as she came toward him and took his arm, and he took that to mean that her butterflies had settled. They walked into the registry together, unable to take their eyes off one another.

When it was their time, Anna took off her jacket, and Bates his overcoat, and they hung them up in the antechamber. He preceded her, wishing they could be having a wedding in a church, with all her family and their friends, with Anna in a beautiful dress and walking down the aisle toward him the way she deserved ... but he couldn't dwell on that. Not when he turned and saw her beautiful face lifted toward him, such absolute love and trust in her eyes. Could he really deserve all that? It was hard to believe he could.

He took her hands, folding his around them, the way he wanted to fold himself around her and never let anything hurt her again. “I, John Bates,” he said in response to the prompting, “take thee, Anna May Smith, to be my wedded wife.”

“I, Anna May Smith,” Anna said, her face shining with her pride and her joy in being able to finally say these words that they had both dreamed of so often. He wondered with a moment's amusement if she would say his full name or if, even in her vows, she would cling to calling him “Mr. Bates.” “Take thee, John Bates,” she continued, and the impish widening of her smile said she had had the same thought, “to be my wedded husband.”

Bates reached into his pocket for the ring. Anna's eyes filled with tears as he slid it part of the way onto her finger and repeated the words that would seal them together as long as they lived. “With this ring, I plight thee my troth.” His voice was roughening now as his throat closed with emotion. “As a symbol of all we have promised, and all that we share.” He moved the ring on her finger until it was seated at the base, stroking her finger as he did so. They shared so much, she and he—she was his best friend, his staunchest support, his truest love, and now his nearest kin, legally as well as in all other ways.

“And now,” came the voice of officialdom, ringing through the room, “it gives me great pleasure to say you are now husband and wife together.”

Staring into each other's eyes, they were laughing and crying at the same time, the joy almost too much to bear, as for the first time, he bent to kiss Anna Bates.


	140. Filled with Promise

_April 1919_

They came out of the registry, standing there dazzled and uncertain in the sunlight.

“So,” said Bates, “that's done. Now what?”

Anna looked at him, frowning a little. “We didn't even talk about what to do afterward, did we?”

“No. I confess, I was so nervous that something would come up and keep this from happening I didn't want to think about after, in case it didn't come true.”

Anna squeezed his arm. “Same here. But now it has happened; and nothing can ever keep us from each other again.”

Bates tried not to think of all the things that did still remain that could part them. He knew what she meant, and it was true. She was Mrs. Bates now for good and proper, and no one could take that away. “Let's go have tea, just the two of us. Our first outing as a married couple.”

“We ought to get back,” Anna said, clearly tempted.

“We've gone this far. No one will miss us an extra hour. And I want to do something special to mark the occasion, since we can't ...” He let that sentence trail off. They were in public, after all, hardly the place to be discussing the more physical side of marriage and the impossibility of experiencing that at Downton, separated by the door between the women's and men's quarters.

Anna blushed, following his meaning perfectly. “I suppose you're right, Mr. Bates.”

“Anna.”

She bit her lip, the gesture utterly adorable and making him forgive her already for her reluctance to use his Christian name. “I'll get there ... John, I promise, but ... I've had such a long time to get used to 'Mr. Bates'.”

“I know. Have I apologized to you yet today for how long this has taken?”

“No, and don't you dare.” She gripped his arm tightly, fiercely. “We're here now, and none of what's come before was your fault, so I don't want to hear any more apologies from you, John Bates. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bates. Whatever you say, Mrs. Bates.” He couldn't help smiling, she was so lovely and so determined. Also so wrong, but he wasn't going to argue with her. Not today, certainly.

“Cheeky beggar,” she said. “Come on, we're in the way.”

Only then did he realize that they were still standing in front of the registry building, with people skirting around them going in and out the door. Flushing with a mix of embarrassment and pride, he led her toward the nearest restaurant, her hand on his arm just where it belonged.

It was such a lovely glimpse of how things could be someday, when all this was settled and they were just a married couple. Talking quietly about whatever struck their fancy, putting tastes of their food on each other's plates, exchanging small intimate smiles that only they two understood ... Bates never wanted it to end.

But end it had to, as they were both due back to their duties all too soon. At last they were walking, hand in hand, back up the path from the village to Downton.

Just before they entered the grounds, Bates stopped her, lifting her small hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. “You've made me the happiest man in the world today, Anna Bates.”

“And me the happiest woman.” She stretched up toward him as he leaned down to her and their mouths met. It was a short, simple kiss—with no prospect of a physical celebration of their matrimony before them in the next few days at least, neither of them wanted to build passions that would have no release—but filled with promise, and with the steadfast love that had never faltered in her heart, all this long time. He only hoped he could be worthy of that love.


	141. The Right Room

_April 1919_

Anna didn't know how everyone could just go on as though it were any other evening, when in truth it was the most beautiful night in the history of nights. She couldn't stop thinking of the look on Mr. Bates's—John's—face when he had put the ring on her finger, of the naturalness of their tea together, of riding back on the bus together knowing they were married now, once and for all.

If only ... if only they could have a proper wedding night. She knew it was foolish to fixate on the physical when the goal she had been working toward all this time, that had seemed so far out of her reach, had finally been achieved, but ... she wanted him. She wanted to learn everything there was to marriage, under the touch of his hands and his lips. She wanted to be his wife in every way, as Vera had been, to finally banish that spectre for good.

But it wasn't to be, she reminded herself, and tried to dredge up the Anna Smith—Anna Bates—who was so practical.

She managed well enough through dinner, since there was no Mr. Bates in the dining room to look at her with that secret, private, happy look he suddenly had, but then she was preparing the three young ladies' rooms for bed, and hard put not to imagine what it would be like to prepare her own room, to undress and wait for the man she loved to come to her, to ...

Those thoughts weren't going to get her anywhere. At the least, she could save them for when she went to bed; surely a married woman could touch herself while thinking of her husband on the other side of the wall when she couldn't touch him, without it being sinful, couldn't she? Anna thought with mingled shame and annoyance.

At last Lady Sybil and Lady Edith were cared for, and there was just Lady Mary to finish; Lady Mary, who knew, although it was clear she had forgotten until midway through changing her for bed, when she suddenly looked up. A smile crossed her face, erasing the frown. “You're married!”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I'm sorry I forgot. It's been ... You know how it's been.” Her ladyship looked weary, and Anna nodded.

“Of course.” She couldn't blame her ladyship; Miss Swire's death had hit her very hard, considering the feelings she still had for Mr. Matthew, feelings she refused to admit to out loud.

“Everything went well, I trust?”

“Yes. Very well.”

“Good. I'm glad.” Lady Mary met Anna's eyes in the mirror. “The secret Mrs. Bates.”

Anna couldn't help but laugh a little, it sounded so like some kind of sensational novel. “We will tell everyone, but ... I thought we should leave it for a while, at least until after the funeral, anyway.”

“You'll have to control yourselves,” Lady Mary said with a tiny, knowing smile.

“Well, we've had enough practice.” Anna gave her a matching smile.

To her surprise, when Lady Mary got up from the dressing table, she didn't get into bed. Instead, she walked toward the door. “Come with me,” she said.

Confused, Anna followed her ladyship through the halls to a bedroom in a less-used wing of the house. Lady Mary opened the door to the room, and Anna saw that it had been cleaned and aired recently, with ... flowers on the bed and candles lit on the bureau and bedside tables. The intention was clear, and she could not suppress her smile. The only thing missing from this day, and Lady Mary had provided it. She wanted to hug the other woman.

“Smuggle Bates in here when everyone has gone to bed,” Lady Mary said. She grinned. “And for heaven's sake, make sure he gets the right room.”

Anna giggled at the thought. She looked around the room; every detail was just what she would have done. “I don't know what to say, my lady. Who did all this?” She had a hard time picturing Lady Mary airing the sheets or building the fire that crackled in the grate.

“Jane. I told her. She said it would be her leaving present,” Lady Mary said. “You can stay all night. She won't tell.”

Of course, Jane. Anna would miss her. She would have to write and thank her for the thoughtfulness that had gone into the preparations.

“My lady, thank you. Very, very much.”

They smiled at one another. The gesture meant all the more to Anna because of the turmoil her ladyship was in otherwise; to have planned a surprise that no doubt made her think of her own situation all for Anna's happiness was generous, indeed. She only hoped that someday she would be able to repay Lady Mary with thoughtfulness of her own.

But for now ... the night lay before her with promises of splendor and glory that Anna had thought unreachable for a long while to come. She could hardly wait for everyone to go to bed so she could go get Mr. Bates. John. _Her_ John, at long last.


	142. Undressed

_April 1919_

Bates walked down the hall, wondering what was going on. Anna had asked him to meet her here—was she thinking of some type of hurried assignation in an unused room, hoping to clean up afterward? Much as he wanted her, he also wanted their first time together to be done right, to take his time showing her how good it could be, making her experience worth the wait. He didn't want to rush.

He knocked lightly on the door, hearing her voice, breathless and happy, within. “Come in, Mr. Bates.”

The room was lit with candles, beautifully decorated, with roses on the pillows, and flowers ... “What's all this?”

Anna giggled. “It was Lady Mary's idea, and she asked Jane to prepare the room. It's—it's ours. All night.”

He leaned back against the door, his knees suddenly weak beneath him. “Anna.”

They looked at one another for a long moment, excitement and trepidation between them in equal measure. After so many years, could this be real? Half of Bates expected someone to come knock on the door, demanding that he unhand this precious, beautiful woman in front of him.

“Come inside and get comfortable, then,” Anna said.

“You first.” She was still in full uniform, including cap and apron.

She flushed, looking suddenly bashful. “I thought ... I thought you might like to undress me.”

“Oh.” God, yes, he would.

Anna took the cap off her head, discarding it on the floor next to her, but left her hair up. “Whenever you're ready, Mr. Bates.”

He grinned. “So this is a working wedding night for me, is it?” Bates took off his own coat and waistcoat, walking toward her in his shirtsleeves. Standing behind her, he slowly untied her apron, and Anna let it flutter to the floor.

Giggling again, she said, “Do you and Lord Grantham often undress young ladies? I might have to revise my opinion of both of you.”

“Hardly.” He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him, his hands going to the buttons at her throat. “God, you are so beautiful.”

“I'm glad you think so.”

They were both watching his hands on the buttons, watching the black fabric part to show just a tantalizing glimpse of bare skin and then the white undergarments she wore. Anna lifted her arms and unfastened her cuffs, and then the dress was sliding off her shoulders, falling to her feet. Bates cupped her cheek in his hand, lifting her face, and slowly, gently, he kissed her. “Before we go any further ... I love you, Anna. More than I ever imagined it was possible to love anyone.”

“I love you, too ... John.”

He could tell it was hard for her to get his name out. It had been such a long time getting to this point, he'd have to wait a while longer until she could say it in all the tones he longed to hear.

Slowly, piece by piece, he removed the rest of her clothes, marveling at the beauty that was revealed to him. Anna stood before him, blushing under the heat of his look, shy at being naked in front of him for the first time, but clearly proud that she pleased him.

She lifted her arms and began taking the pins out of her hair, giving it a shake so that it fell all around her, the silky strands caressing her shoulders and flowing down her bare back. Bates wasn't sure whether to ravish her or just stand here and stare at her in awe. Anna Smith, the head maid of Downton Abbey, was beautiful. Anna Bates, his bride, was breathtaking.

“Now you, please,” she whispered. They were both trembling, from emotion and from need and from the nerves that came with all the years of pent-up passion inside them.

Bates undressed himself rather more hastily than he had her, but he felt some of the same mix of emotions as she watched him. She seemed to find in him the same perfection he had found in her, inexplicably enough.

When he stood before her as naked as she was, Anna reached for his hand, leading him to the bed, lifting the covers and sliding between them. Bates's throat went dry, thinking of his hands touching her the way those sheets were doing. It was impossible to believe that such a thing was allowed now.

Anna was having none of any further delay. “Come here, John.”

She waited beneath the covers impatiently as he lifted them and slid in beside her. The touch of his naked thigh against hers was shockingly, unbearably intimate, and she could feel an ache begin deep inside her, a longing for more. She moved her thigh, rubbing it up and down his, and John's answering groan increased that ache.

“Slowly, Anna. We have all night, and I want to do this right.”

She didn't disagree, but there was a heat inside her, a need, that had her wanting everything now. If he didn't touch her soon, she thought she might burst into pieces.

“Please,” she whispered.

John smiled, leaning toward her. “Kiss me, Anna.”

“Yes.” She reached up, bringing his head down toward her, feeling the warmth of his mouth, and she parted her lips for him, letting his tongue find hers.

As much as they both tried to make it go slow, they had waited so long that the kiss took on an intensity that had Anna practically writhing in John's arms.

Breaking the kiss, he chuckled. “You're not going to be able to take this slowly, are you?”

Anna blushed, as much at the way the intimate tone of the question sent an unbearable heat through her as at the shameless way her leg was wrapped around him. He was hard against her leg, and she couldn't help reaching down to touch him, so hot and so surprisingly silky-smooth.

John groaned, pressing against her touch. “Anna ...”

“Please.”

As she stroked him, listening to the changes in his breathing and the sounds he made to determine what he wanted, his hand stole softly between her thighs, gently parting them, before he found the heat at the center of her. His fingers slid through the wetness there, the sensation indescribable. Anna moaned, raising her hips to get closer to his touch. As he explored there, so intimate and shocking and wonderful, she found her limbs weakening, her hand falling away from him as he created inside her a pleasure she had never imagined in her wildest dreams.

She was begging now, incoherently calling his name, and John groaned. “Anna, please, can I—“ He let the words trail off, because Anna was nodding, whispering “yes, yes, yes”.

There was no fear in her, as he got into position on top of her; she watched his face, trusting him completely. Gently, slowly, his arms trembling, he seated himself inside her, wincing with her when there was pain. But the pain was short-lived, and then she nodded and he began to move, and it was—everything and more.

Anna clung to him, her eyes closed, unable to do more than hold on as he built the tension inside her.

“Oh, God, Anna, I love you,” he breathed, his voice shaking, and she wanted to say it back, but she couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. She moved against him as best she could, wanting more, reaching for something wonderful just outside her grasp.

And then it was there. _She_ was there, her body tingling all over with the intensity of her pleasure, and John was breathing harsh and heavy into her ear as he shuddered against her.

Long before his weight had become a burden, he shifted off of her, pulling her close into his arms, and Anna snuggled against his chest, as perfectly happy as she had ever been in her life.


	143. This One Night

_April 1919_

Holding Anna close in bed, both of them naked, was a miracle Bates had long ago given up hope of experiencing. It was astonishing. She was astonishing. The passion in her, the way she had responded to his touch ... He wasn't without experience—Vera alone had been an education—but he had never felt quite the way Anna made him feel. He had not been prepared for the intensity.

“John?” she asked softly, and he thrilled to hear his Christian name coming more and more readily to her lips. “Are you all right?”

He shifted backward across the mattress so that he could see her better. “What do you think?”

Anna smiled, a satisfied smile such as he had never seen on her face before. He wanted to see it again and again, to know that he had put it there. “Yes.”

“Yes.” They lay there smiling at one another foolishly.

Looking at her was lovely, but Bates didn't want to miss a moment of touching her. He reached for her, resting his hand on her hip, feeling the soft curve of her beneath the blanket, the warmth there. Anna put her hand on his, her thumb lightly stroking his wrist.

“Well, Mrs. Bates ...” he said. “You've had your way with me.”

They both dissolved into giggles quite unbecoming the dignity of the Earl of Grantham's valet and Downton Abbey's head housemaid.

But even here, in this magical room, in this fragile bubble of happiness, Bates couldn't forget the dark cloud that hung over them. He put his hand on her shoulder, rubbing the warm skin. “I just hope you don't live to regret it.”

Anna met his eyes, as frankly and fearlessly as she always had. “I couldn't regret it. No matter what comes.” She smiled. “I know only that I am now who I was meant to be.”

God, what a woman she was. Most men lived their lives dreaming of such a woman, wishing for such support and such unbelievable love and loyalty. “I'm not worthy of you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “That's all I know. And they'll call me names for pulling you into my troubles.”

“Mr. Bates,” Anna said severely, and they both smiled at the familiar term, almost an endearment now. “We've waited long enough to be together, you and I. And now that we're man and wife, can we let that be enough? Just for this one night.”

He smiled. How could he deny her this, when it was all he wanted, too? She came into his arms, kissing him.

Bates stroked the tangle of blonde hair that fell over her back, threading his fingers through it. He couldn't get enough of it, the way it made her look, so young and free and ... his. Because he knew she had never worn her hair down for another man—and now he knew she never would. And that made it all the more exciting as his mouth left hers to explore her neck, his hands tracing the contours of her body, all the curves he had watched for so many years buried beneath demure black fabric and dreamed of, now bare to his touch.

“Mr. Bates,” Anna gasped, and he grinned against her collarbone.

“John,” he reminded her gently, punctuating the reminder with kisses along the column of her throat.

“John,” she said, her hands finding his shoulders, mussing his hair. Light touches, like a butterfly's, as his mouth closed over her nipple and began teasing it to full hardness. Anna cried out at the sensation, arching her body underneath his.

Her whispers and moans of pleasure were the sweetest music he had ever heard. How long had he been dreaming of this moment, of having her in front of him, to worship with lips and tongue and hands and fingers in the way she deserved to be worshiped? Her passion and his own had hurried the first time, but this time he intended to be patient, to show her all the glories of the marriage bed, to bring her to pleasure again and again before taking his own. God only knew when they would have this chance again; this one night had to be memorable for possibly weeks to come before they could announce their marriage and make some arrangement with Lord Grantham.

“Oh!” Anna gasped, her fingers tightening on his shoulders, as he suckled more strongly on her nipple. His hand found the wet heat at the core of her, stroking her there, and she drew her legs up to give him a better angle.

He pushed himself up on his elbow to watch her face as his fingers worked inside her, his thumb moving in circles. Anna's eyes were closed tightly, little moans of pleasure escaping her as her hips twisted in response. It occurred to Bates that it was inevitable that he would be sitting next to her or passing her in the hall and remember how divinely beautiful she looked in this moment, reaching the peak of her pleasure at his hands, and be utterly unable to continue his work. A small price to pay for a moment as precious as this one.

She arched against him with a cry, her body going still beneath his hands, and he ceased all movement, waiting while the climax swept through her, waiting until her hips relaxed back onto the bed and her eyes opened. “My turn,” she announced firmly, pushing at him until he rolled over onto his back.

“Anna, you don't have to—ah.” He caught his breath as her mouth began to trace a path down the center of his chest.

“I want to,” she said, in a voice that brooked no further opposition.

He should have expected this, her astonishing bravery. He had thought of her as inexperienced, but she was also enthusiastic, and oh ... yes, determined. Determined was the word, he thought, unable to keep still under the touch of her hands and lips as she explored his body. And when her hand found him, stroking lightly, rubbing, he couldn't take any more. He caught her in his arms, rolling her over, and kissed her. Somewhere in the kiss they managed to get into position and he found himself buried deep within her again, moving steadily at first and then with greater speed and a lot less precision as the long-denied passion lifted them both to the peak.

This time, little as either of them wanted to waste a moment, they were unable to stay awake. After a long, emotional day and all the usual duties and responsibilities and now this unexpected bliss together ... Bates blinked, his eyes heavy, and yawned, and Anna burrowed her head into the crook of his shoulder and sighed sleepily.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“I love you, too.”

And they drifted off to sleep like any proper man and wife.


	144. A Generous Gesture

_April 1919_

Bates leaned against the wall, closing his eyes only for a moment, to remember last night. God, Anna had been amazing. And this morning, too, waking in her arms, to her passionate kisses, making love with her all over again. Every time her confidence and her boldness and her utter fearlessness increased. Were they truly able to live as man and wife, he would have been unable to tear himself away from her bed for days, at least, before either of them were sated.

As it was, they had had to rush into their clothes from the previous night in order to sneak back out of the main part of the house and into the servants' area to change for the day, and neither of them would be what you could call rested today. Happy, but not rested.

Anna had promised to clean up the room they had used, telling him not to worry about it. Privately, and in a rare moment of dissatisfaction with the realities of servant life, Bates had wondered who it would really hurt to leave one unused bedroom for them. But that wasn't the way things were done—Mr. Carson would be appalled by the very idea, no doubt.

Bates had managed to get Lord Grantham dressed and ready for the day without losing himself in memory, but straightening up the dressing room and checking over his lordship's wardrobe for things needing mending and cleaning had taken about twice as long as they should. He kept seeing Anna's smile, her hair falling down her back so freely, her face as she surrendered to the pleasure he had built inside her body. His wife, he reminded himself. His. Wife. To think he had ever used those words and meant Vera—it seemed like a perversion of the term.

His lordship had commented on his distraction, and it had been on the tip of Bates's tongue to tell him. They had few secrets from one another. But with the house still in mourning for Miss Swire, and Lady Grantham still recovering from the influenza that had almost taken her life, it seemed best not to add any further complication, so he kept quiet, difficult as it was to do so.

Now he stood in the hall, his arms filled with clothes needing cleaning and mending, mooning about like any calf-eyed youngster, unable to go any further without stopping to remember Anna's touch, her taste, the sounds she had made. He had always known she was extraordinary, but—

Someone was coming down the hall. He straightened up hastily, hoping his face wasn't flushed from his thoughts, to see Lady Mary approaching, a small smile on her lips.

“Bates.”

“My lady.” He hesitated, feeling uncomfortable knowing that Lady Mary, of everyone in the house, no doubt knew what he had been thinking about. Which reminded him ... “I wanted to thank you.”

“For—oh.” Her smile widened. “It was my pleasure. You deserved a celebration, and I promise when we get past all this ...” She gestured around at the house, meaning the sickness and the death. “You will have one.”

“Nonetheless—it was a generous gesture, and very much appreciated.” How strange to be thanking a relatively inexperienced young woman for allowing him to experience his own marriage bed, he thought, but quashed that line of thinking before it could go any further. He had chosen this life long ago; he would have to accept the oddities and awkwardnesses that came with it. 

Lady Mary's eyes held his steadily. She was hard to read, but if he had to guess, he'd have imagined she didn't like him much—and who could blame her? “It was for Anna. I assume you know that,” she said coolly. “Anna who knows what she wants and lets nothing stop her; I admire that.” Even if I don't necessarily agree with her choices went unsaid. “See to it you take care of her.”

“I will do my best,” he said, trying to pretend that they didn't both know his best might never quite be good enough.

“Good.” Lady Mary nodded sharply and kept moving past him.

Bates pulled himself together and went on about his work, thinking that a few moments' conversation with Lady Mary was about as bracing as a bucket of cold water—and just about as enjoyable.


	145. Dream of Me

_April 1919_

How Anna had made it through the whole day without embarrassing herself, she didn't know. Not only was she sore in a number of interesting new places that reminded her with practically every movement of last night's activities, she also kept remembering bits and pieces of those activities at all the wrong times and having to shake herself out of thoughts that were half memory and half fantasy.

What an unbelievable night. She had had high expectations of what it would be like to be truly man and wife, but even those had been exceeded by the pleasure and the joy she had felt in Mr. Bates's—John's—arms.

She'd caught his eye at every possible moment that she could all day, and she knew by the warmth there, the intensity, that he was remembering with an equal amount of pleasure. Somewhere in a dark place in her heart the last doubt was put at rest, the last ember of jealousy. Whatever Vera had been to him, in bed and out, Anna could be more. She knew that now, with every fiber of her being.

But as the night drew closer, the euphoria of the day, of their marriage and their marriage bed, started to fade, as Anna had to face the stark reality where they were still thought to be unmarried, still housed in lonely beds in separate rooms, with a locked door between them. What if she asked Lady Mary for the use of the room again, she thought wildly. Or went to Lord Grantham and told him they were married. Or Mr. Carson. Surely they would all see the need for a new husband and wife to be able to sleep in the same bed, wouldn't they?

Anna rubbed her hands over her face. She was absolutely exhausted; last night had been all but sleepless, after a full work day and all the wonderful, but draining, emotions of finally being wed. No wonder she wasn't thinking clearly.

She could hear the familiar tap of the cane as he approached, and she was grateful for the spring chill in the air giving her at least some sharpness and clarity of thought. Had it been any warmer out she might have flung herself into his arms and gone to sleep on his shoulder.

“Anna?”

“I'm here.”

Without a word, he took her into his arms, his mouth finding hers. All the tentativeness of their former kisses, all the faint taste of restraint, was gone. He kissed her hungrily, with a confident knowledge of her mouth and her responses that sent fire thrilling through Anna's body. She stood up on her toes to get closer, responding with the eagerness and abandon she had learned in his arms just last night. It was no longer forbidden to feel this immediate passion under his touch, and that was exciting all by itself.

Through the haze of arousal, she realized dimly that he had pushed her back into a dark corner of the courtyard, and that his hand was on her thigh, slowly hiking up her skirt. The Anna she had been until yesterday's first thought was to tell him to stop ... but she wasn't that Anna any longer. She was Anna Bates, and Anna Bates hungered for her husband's touch. She shifted her legs just a little apart to allow him better access and was rewarded by a low growl deep in his throat in reaction to her movement.

His warm hand closed over her, rubbing firmly just where Anna ached most to be touched, and she was glad for his mouth on hers because otherwise she couldn't have kept quiet. Her underclothes were between them, and she wished for his fingers on her bare flesh, but Anna Bates was practical, too, and knew that this was as much as she could ask for—and more than she had hoped for. She clung to his shoulders to hold herself up as weakness filled her, her hips pushing against his hand, straining for the delightful pleasure she had experienced last night.

He didn't stop, or slow, just kept on steadily until she gasped, her knees refusing to hold her up any longer. John held her up, one strong arm tight around her waist, until Anna had recovered enough to stand again.

“We couldn't have done much more than this tonight, anyway,” he said softly in her ear. “I'm sure you're still sore.”

Anna nodded, feeling a sudden shyness, ridiculous though that might be.

John seemed to read her shyness, because his eyes warmed with humor and affection. “I promise, as soon as I can, I'll have us back in bed together. Until then ... dream of me, Anna.”

“I always do,” Anna whispered, and his smile widened with a pure happiness she had never seen on his face before. “I love you, John.”

“I love you, Anna. My beautiful wife.”


End file.
